IA 


IN    UNIFORM    BINDING 
Each,  16mo,  75  cents 


AMOS  JUDD 
By  J.  A.   Mitchell 

I  A.     A    Love    Story 
By  Q 


IA 


A   LOVE    STORY 


BY 

Q 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
NEW   YORK,   1895 


COPYRIGHT,  1895,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW   OIR«CTORY 

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PROLOGUE 


Though  it  be  songe 

Of  old  and  yonge 

That  I  shokle  be  to  blame  ; 

Theyrs  be  the  charge 
That  speke  so  large 
In  hurtynge  of  my  name  ; 

For  I  wyll  prove 
That  faythfulle  love 
It  is  devoyd  of  shame." 


PROLOGUE 

THE    ROUND-HOUSE   AT    REVVER 

At  the  western  end  of  the  bay  a  peninsu- 
la of  slate-rock,  covered  with  short  turf, 
pushes  out  N.N.E.  into  the  Atlantic.  The 
people  of  Ardevora,*  who  dry  their  nets 
along  its  chine,  call  this  The  Island ;  but  a 
lo\v  ridge  of  sand  and  gravel  connects  it  with 
the  mainland.  From  the  shelter  of  this 
ridge  Ardevora  Town  looks  across  the  bay 
to  the  whitewashed  light-house  on  Gulland 
Point — four  miles  as  the  crow  flies,  six  if 
you  follow  the  deep  curve  of  the  foreshore. 

The  beach  all  the  way  is  sandy — the  sand 
a  vivid  yellow  ;  and  on  bright  days  the  sea 
takes  from  this  underlying  sand  a  sapphire 
clearness.  Blue  sea,  white  breakers,  yellow 
shore — in  summer  this  bit  of  the  coast  is  full 

*  Stressed  on  second  syllable — Ardevora.  It  may 
be  well  to  mention  here  that  the  first  letter  in  "  la'1 
is  long,  and  should  be  sounded  in  English  fashion, 
much  as  if  it  were  written  "  Eia." 


4  1  A 

of  colour.  It  has  its  own  flowers,  too  ;  on 
the  Island  the  vernal  squills,  white  and  pink 
as  well  as  blue ;  gentians  afterwards,  sea- 
lavender  and  succory,  and  the  scarce  balm- 
leaved  fig-wort ;  wall-mustard,  fennel,  and 
valerian  everywhere. 

Around  the  bay,  at  the  back  of  its  yellow 
beaches,  the  Towans  stretch.  In  the  begin- 
ning these  were  sand-hills,  piled  by  the  wind 
and  continually  shifting.  But  first  the  sea- 
rush  took  root  and  stopped  the  drift,  and  by 
degrees  this  encouraged  the  turf  to  grow  ; 
and  then  the  spleen  wort  came,  and  the  gen- 
tians, and  columbines,  and  broad -leaved 
centaury;  and  now  the  Towans  are  green 
and  pleasant  to  walk  on. 

But  behind  them,  and  behind  Ardevora, 
rises  a  country  that  is  sombre  and  desolate, 
winter  and  summer  ;  a  land  of  moors  and 
granite  cairns  and  things  silently  gone  out 
of  mind,  and  other  things  handed  down 
and  whispered  between  a  smile  and  a  shud- 
der (as  a  man  will  tell  his  wife  in  the  morn- 
ing some  absurd  and  evil  dream  that  he  has 
had)  ;  where  to  be  born,  or  to  live  for  long, 
is  supposed  to  confer  strange  powers. 

From  this  forsaken  land  a  small  river — it 
has  no  name — runs  down  and  breaks  over 


A  LOVE  STORY  5 

a  sandy  bar  into  the  arc  of  the  bay,  about 
two  miles  and  a  half  from  Ardevora  Town. 
Within  the  river  mouth,  among  the  Towans 
on  the  left  bank,  and  half  a  mile  from  the 
bar,  stands  the  hamlet  of  Revyer. 

Revyer  consists  of  a  cottage,  a  boat- 
builder's  yard,  and  a  round  meeting-house. 
That  is  all.  Nevertheless,  Revyer  is  the 
metropolis  of  a  religious  sect  which,  not 
twenty  years  ago,  numbered  its  followers  by 
thousands,  dispersed  in  every  quarter  of  the 
globe.  The  history  of  the  Second  Advent 
Saints  begins  with  this  meeting-house  among 
the  sand-hills,  and  the  history  of  the  meet- 
ing-house begins  with  the  Vision  of  Mary 
Penno  in  the  year  1773. 

In  that  year,  as  everybody  knows,  the 
Wesleyan  movement  was  divided  by  a  con- 
troversy between  its  leaders — between  the 
Calvinist  Methodists  qn  the  one  hand,  and 
the  Arminian  Methodists  on  the  other.  It 
was  Charles  Wesley  who  had  first  planted 
Methodism  in  Ardevora,  and  John  \Vesley 
who  confirmed  it  in  1743.  During  the  next 
thirty  years  John  paid  the  town  no  less  than 
sixteen  visits,  and  in  August,  1770,  was  able 
to  write  :  ' '  Here  God  has  made  all  our  ene- 
mies to  be  at  peace  with  us."  Notwith- 


6  I  A 

standing,  when  the  Wesleys  declared  against 
Predestination,  a  certain  number  in  Arde- 
vora  adhered  to  the  Calvinistic  creed  :  among 
them  Mary  Penno,  a  maiden  lady  owning 
some  small  properties  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

The  account  of  what  befell  this  good 
woman  on  Lady  Day,  1773,  I  take  verbatim 
from  a  deposition  sworn  and  attested  in  the 
presence  of  Charles  Pendarves,  Esq.,  Magis- 
trate of  the  County : 

"March  joth,  1773. — Came  before  me 
Mary  Penno,  spinster,  oetat.  38,  Susannah 
Hocken,  James  Hocken  (her  husband), 
Onesimus  Heathcote,  Walter  Chellew,  Will- 
iam John  Trewhella,  Nahum  Sprigge,  and 
others.  This  Mary  Penno  deposes  that  on 
the  twenty-fifth  of  this  month,  she  having 
rent  to  receive  from  James  Hocken  of  Rev- 
yer  for  a  cottage  occupied  by  him  and  his 
wife  Susannah,  did  walk  over  from  Ardevora 
to  receive  this  rent,  after  her  custom  :  That 
she  did  reach  Revyer  about  three  o'clock  of 
the  afternoon  (the  light  being  then  good), 
and  was  passing  the  pallace,  or  store,  where 
formerly  they  cured  pilchards  (but  now  it  is 
disused  and  the  roof  gone),  about  a  furlong 
above  James  Hocken' s  cottage  and  on  the 


A  LOVE  STORY  7 

right  of  the  road,  handy  by  the  river  ;  when 
she  was  astonished  by  a  brightness,  as  of 
candles  burning,  within  the  store :  That 
stopping  and  looking  in  by  an  open  window, 
she  saw  the  form  of  a  man  lying  upon  the 
earthen  floor  and  writing  thereon  with  his 
finger,  his  head  supported  by  the  other  hand. 
Deponent  says  the  face  of  the  Apparition 
was  turned  from  her  ;  but  a  great  light  pro- 
ceeded from  his  side  (she  supposes  about 
where  the  heart  would  be)  by  which  she  was 
able  to  see  the  writing,  and  that  it  was, 
'  SURELY,  I  COME  QUICKLY.'  She  then  has- 
tened to  the  Hocken's  cottage,  where  she 
found  the  said  Susannah  Hocken  in  the  gar- 
den, amending  the  bee-skips  (the  husband 
being  away  at  his  work),  and  the  two  wom- 
en went  back  to  the  store  together.  The 
Apparition  was  still  there,  and  in  the  same 
posture,  but  shadowy,  ^nd  the  light  coming 
much  fainter  from  his  side.  While  they 
looked,  it  faded  away.  Deponent,  who  looks 
to  be  in  fair  health,  adds  that  in  all  her  life 
before  no  vision  has  ever  come  to  her  ;  and, 
further,  that  this  did  not  affect  her  deeply, 
but  pleasurably,  and  not  (as  might  be  sup- 
posed) with  any  great  fear. 

"  Susannah  Hocken  confirms  the  above, 


8  I  A 

touching  the  visit  paid  by  the  two  women 
together  to  the  store.  The  Apparition  did 
seem  to  her  not  so  much  a  living  person, 
but  as  it  were  a  form  impressed  upon  the 
ground.  The  form  was  a  man's.  The 
writing  she  saw  clearly ;  but  could  not  in- 
terpret it,  being  unable  to  read.  The  light 
was  like  a  glow-worm's,  only  much  bright- 
er. The  writing  disappeared  with  the  rest 
of  the  vision.  She  looked  afterwards  (it 
being  broad  day),  and  could  find  none  of 
it,  nor  sign  that  the  earth  had  been  dis- 
turbed. This  witness  also  confirms  Mary 
Penno  touching  the  pleasurable  nature  of 
the  vision. 

"  James  Hocken  (husband  of  the  preced- 
ing witness)  affirms  that  on  the  evening  of 
March  251)1  he  returned  home  between  the 
lights,  when  his  wife  told  him  at  once  of 
the  Apparition.  He  went  with  her  to  the 
store,  taking  a  lantern,  and  did  examine 
the  place  carefully,  and  especially  the 
ground  whereabout  the  writing  had  been, 
but  found  no  sign  of  any  disturbance. 

"  Onesimus  Heathcote  (formerly  a  Preach- 
er in  Ardevora,  but  he  has  cast  it  up,  and 
now  keeps  a  small  shop  where  he  sells  gin- 
gerbread) deposes  that  between  seven  and 


A  LOVE  STORY  9 

eight  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty- 
fifth,  while  he  and  a  few  friends  were  hold- 
ing prayer  in  his  house,  came  in  Mary  Pen- 
no,  greatly  perturbed  and  exalted  in  spirit, 
with  the  story  of  a  Vision  that  had  appeared 
to  her  at  Revyer.  Witness  questioned  her 
upon  it,  and  walked  over  to  Revyer  next 
morning  and  questioned  Susannah  Hockcn 
separately.  The  accounts  of  the  two  women 
agreed,  and  confirmed  each  other.  He  af- 
terwards visited  the  store,  but  found  nothing 
unusual.  He  has  known  Mary  Penno  for 
several  years,  and  considers  her  a  woman 
of  judgment,  in  matters  of  business  well 
able  to  take  care  of  herself. 

"  This  witness  adds  (but  it  is  notorious) 
that  the  affair  has  caused  a  great  excitation 
of  feeling  in  the  town,  where  many  have 
daily  been  expecting  Our  Lord's  Second 
Coming " 

Here  follow  some  unimportant  deposi- 
tions, and  after  them  the  marks  and  signa- 
tures. 

The  excitement  wore  away  its  edge  in 
two  or  three  weeks,  but  not  before  it  had 
cut  an  entirely  new  channel  for  religious 
feeling  in  Ardevora.  At  this  distance  of 
time  we  may  not  judge  the  Rev.  Onesimus 


to  I  A 

Heathcote.  He  had  come,  in  1761,  from 
Wednesbury  in  Staffordshire,  to  preach  the 
Word  in  Ardevora.  He  had  gathered  a 
large  flock  about  him,  and  had  then  suffered 
the  loss  of  nine-tenths  of  it  rather  than  fol- 
low Wesley  into  Arminianism. 

Within  three  months  of  the  date  of  the 
Apparition  he  married  Mary  Penno.  She 
had  ^300  a  year  of  her  own.  It  is  easy  to 
say  that  the  minister  saw  and  seized  his  op- 
portunity. It  concerns  us  only  that  he  and 
his  wife  founded  the  sect  of  Second  Advent 
Saints. 

They  built  their  temple,  not  in  Ardevora, 
but  upon  the  very  spot  where  Mary  Penno, 
now  Heathcote,  had  seen  the  Apparition. 
The  ruined  pilchard  store,  with  its  site,  cost 
but  twelve  pounds  ;  and  here  they  raised  the 
Round-house  among  the  sand-hills — a  slag- 
stone  building,  with  a  conical  roof  of  thatch 
and  four  windows  facing  north,  south,  east 
and  west — since  no  one  knew  from  what 
quarter  the  Lord  would  direct  His  Second 
Coming.  A  circular  pulpit  in  the  centre  of 
the  floor  gave  the  preacher  a  view  from  each 
of  these  windows,  which  were  of  clear  glass. 
The  one  ornament  of  the  interior  was  a 
painted  frieze,  running  around  the  wall  un- 


A  LOVE  STORY  II 

der  the  spring  of  the  roof,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion :  "  HE  THAT  TESTIFIETH  THESE  THINGS 

SAITH  SURELY  I  COME  QUICKLY  AMEN  EVEN 
so  COME  LORD  JESUS."  It  formed  a  circle 
as  continuous  as  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphic 
of  the  snake  that  swallows  its  own  tail ;  so 
that  little  children  in  the  congregation 
cricked  their  necks  trying  to  find  out  where 
the  text  began  and  ended. 

The  distance  of  their  meeting-house  did 
not  daunt  these  Advent  Saints  in  Ardevora, 
who  walked  their  five  miles  (there  and 
back)  twice  every  Sunday  without  grum- 
bling. The  government  of  the  sect  rested 
on  five  Elders — who  might  be  male  or  female 
— elected  for  life.  These  Elders  chose 
the  Preacher,  and  could  dismiss  him,  if  need 
were. 

Heathcote  and  his  wife  were  original  El- 
ders, and  drew  up  the  Articles  of  Faith  and 
Discipline.  All  converts  bound  themselves 
by  oath  to  accept  the  discipline  as  laid  down 
and  administered  by  the  Five  Ruling  Elders. 
As  for  the  faith,  to  be  short,  it  was  a  kind  of 
mystical  Calvinism — a  faith,  as  it  were,  with 
two  faces  ;  the  one  turned  back  upon  the 
savage  inland  heaths,  the  other  lurid  in  the 
near  glow  of  Apocalypse.  You  might  imag- 


12  I    A 

ine  a  child  inventing  such  a  faith,  to  terri- 
fy himself  in  bed. 

When,  four  years  later,  Mary  Heathcote 
died  in  childbed,  the  Second  Advent  Saints 
in  Ardevora  and  the  neighbourhood  num- 
bered close  on  eight  hundred. 

She  left  a  child — a  weakly  boy  with  the  bap- 
tismal name  of  Stephen.  The  widowed  One- 
simus  lived  on  at  Ardevora  for  another  five 
years,  and  then  migrated  with  his  son  to  Lon- 
don, where,  in  Brixton,  he  founded  the  first 
colony,  or  "Affiliated  Branch,"  of  the  Saints. 

But  the  faith  had  already  begun  to  cross 
the  seas.  The  seed  crossed  in  emigrant 
ships  ;  it  was  jolted  in  white-roofed  waggons 
across  the  plains  of  great  continents ;  it  de- 
scended into  Antipodean  mines.  And  it 
took  root.  At  the  close  of  the  century  the 
Elect  could  number  two  score  of  foreign 
branches — plants,  rather,  from  the  parent 
stock ;  for  each  was  self-supporting,  and 
each  obeyed  its  own  government  of  Five  El- 
ders. But  it  is  the  doom  of  the  Cornish  to 
emigrate  and  remember.  Wherever  a  colony 
took  root  it  raised  a  round  meeting-house 
with  four  windows,  after  the  pattern  of  that 
by  Revyer,  and  in  their  prayers  the  exiles 
returned  always  to  this  obscure  chapel  in  the 


A  LOVE  STORY  13 

sand-hills,  as  Daniel  knelt  with  his  lattice 
open  towards  Zion. 

Onesimus  Heathcote  left  Ardevora  in  the 
beginning  of  1783.  Our  story  opens  there, 
just  seventy -seven  years  later, 


THE  STORY 


THE  new  Preacher  was  young,  and  had  a 
smile  that  seemed  younger  still.  His  hair 
was  yellow,  with  a  ripple  in  it ;  his  eyes  were 
a  bright  blue ;  his  eyebrows  and  lashes  quite 
dark.  Elder  Carbines  took  to  him  at  once. 

"  You'm  welcome  as  flowers  in  May," 
said  he,  and  shook  hands.  "  la,  dust  a  chair 
for  the  Preacher." 

la,  the  dark-browed  serving-maid,  dusted 
a  chair  and  set  it  in  the  bow- window  that 
looked  on  the  quay.  She  had  not  taken 
her  eyes  off  the  young  man  since  she  opened 
the  door  to  him.  He  thanked  her  and  sat 
down.  Though  the  month  was  February, 
his  boots  had  gathered  dust  in  his  walk 
across  the  Towans.  The  girl  knelt  down 
and  wiped  it  away. 

"Please  don't  trouble,"  he  said,  frowning 
slightly  because  he  felt  shy.  But  she  per- 
sisted, answering — it  was  hardly  more  than  a 
murmur — "  Kindly  welcome,  Preacher." 

Elder  Carbines  had  taken  his  visitor's  card 


i8  I  A 

and  was  arranging  it  with  care  in  the  frame 
of  the  mirror  over  the  fire-place,  where  it 
looked  very  well.  "  The  Rev.  Paul  Heath- 
cote,"  he  read  it  out  with  approval,  and 
turned  towards  the  window. 

"  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  these 
little  attentions.  You'm  a  great  man  here 
in  Ardevora,  I  assure  'ee.  Never  too  soon 
to  begin  knowing  your  flock.  The  girl's 
name  is  la — la  Rosemundy.  She's  one  of 
our  probationary  members ;  means  to  take 
the  vow  next  Lady  Day  Feast — eh,  lass? 
I  dessay  she'd  like  you  to  give  her  a  kiss." 

Paul  Heathcote  flushed,  between  awkward- 
ness and  anger.  The  girl's  head  was  bowed 
over  his  boots ;  but  he  felt  her  hand  slacken 
on  the  duster,  and,  looking  down,  saw  the 
red  blush  surge  up  and  across  her  neck. 

"  Tut,  now  !  "  the  Elder  pursued  ;  "it's 
the  custom  here.  You'll  find  the  middle- 
aged  'uns  won't  let  you  off."  {Chuckle.} 
"  Old  Preacher  Ward  never  missed.  He 
used  to  say  that,  takin'  one  with  t'other,  a 
man  found  hisself  about  as  well  off  as  he 
started.  la,  put  up  your  face." 

The  girl  lifted  a  burning  face,  dropped  her 
eyes,  and  knelt  shamefast  and  submissive. 
The  Preacher  frowned.  He  was  very  young, 


A  LOVE  STORY  19 

and  hated  to  look  foolish  ;  but  it  would 
never  do  to  start  by  quarrelling  with  the 
Chief  Elder.  Still  frowning,  he  bent  for- 
ward and  kissed  the  girl's  forehead. 

Her  colour  had  all  gone  now.  Without 
speaking  or  lifting  her  eyes,  she  rose  and 
escaped  from  the  room. 

The  Elder  chuckled  again,  filled  a  long 
clay  pipe,  and  dropped  into  a  high  elbow- 
chair  facing  the  young  man.  Just  outside 
the  bulging  window  the  masts  of  many  fish- 
ing-luggers rocked  by  Ardevora  quay. 

"  Dinner  '11  be  ready  in  half  an  hour. 
Where's  your  box  or  portmantle?  You 
must  excuse  a  widowman's  housekeeping. 
My  daughter  Bitha,  she's  away  to  boardin'- 
school  over  to  Penzance.  She's  comin'  home 
on  Saturday,  though  —  o'  purpose  to  attend 
your  first  service.  She's  being  what  you 
call  '  finished '  over  there.  Talks  like  a 
book.  She'll  have  the  house  ship-shape 
when  she  comes,  if  she  has  to  turn  it  out  o' 
windows.  But,  meantime,  if  you'll  look 
over  any  small  failin's " 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Elder,  but  J 
have  already  taken  lodgings." 

Mr.  Carbines  set  down  his  pipe,  frowned, 
and  rubbed  his  chin. 


20  I    A 

"I  take  it  ill,"  he  said  slowly;  "I  take 
it  ill  that  you  should  knock  at  any  door  in 
Ardevora  before  mine.  I  am  Chief  Elder 
and  richest  man  in  the  town ;  and  I  meant 
well  by  you,  young  sir. ' ' 

Paul  answered:  "Yours  was  the  first 
door  I  sought  in  Ardevora.  But  could  I, 
that  am  the  great-grandson  of  Mary  Penno, 
pass  the  Towans  without  turning  aside  ?  " 

The  Elder  picked  up  his  pipe  again, 
sucked  hard  at  it,  and  nodded. 

"  There  by  the  Meeting-house  I  found  an 
old  couple  living,  both  of  them  of  the 
elect " 

"  That  will  be  boat-builder  Baragwanath 
and  his  wife." 

' '  The  same.  They  guessed  at  once  who 
I  was,  and — I  am  ashamed  to  tell  it — they 
fell  on  their  knees  and  gave  God  thanks  for 
me.  While  the  old  man  went  for  the  key 
of  the  Meeting-house,  the  woman  took  me 
into  her  cottage  and  fed  me  on  new  milk 
and  saffron  cake. ' ' 

"And  it  was  put  into  your  mind  to  ask 
for  lodging  with  them?  " 

"There,  by  the  spot  where  my  great- 
grandmother  saw  the  Angel.  You  under- 
stand? I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  they 


A  LOVE  STORY  21 

seemed.  The  old  man  took  his  barrow  at 
once  and  wheeled  it  off  to  the  cross-roads 
for  my  box.  You  are  not  offended  ?  " 

Paul  certainly  had  a  winning  voice,  and 
his  eyes  were  brighter  than  ever  as  he  told 
his  story. 

Mr.  Carbines  regarded  him  for  a  moment, 
then  stared  out  of  window  at  the  rocking 
masts.  The  door  opened,  and  the  girl  la 
re-entered  and  began  to  lay  the  table.  She 
did  not  look  towards  the  two  men. 

After  a  minute's  silence  the  Elder  spoke — 

"  I  doubt  this  is  the  Lord's  doin'.  That 
there  cottage  of  the  Baragwanaths  is  where 
Susannah  Hocken  lived,  she  that  saw  the 
Vision  along  wi'  your  great-grandmother. 
Nothin'  new  but  the  roof.  Bitha  will  be 
disapp'inted." 

He  eyed  the  bowl  of  his  pipe,  and  pressed 
the  ashes  down  with  his  little  finger. 

"  We  shall  all  be  disapp'inted.  We 
looked  to  lodge  you  here  in  Ardevora,  and 
make  much  o'  you.  You'm  our  little  ewe 
lamb,  in  a  way  o'  speakin'." 

[The  Elder  spoke  it  "  ee-wee."  This  was 
his  literary  pronunciation.  When  in  ordi- 
nary life  he  had  occasion  to  speak  of  ewes, 
he  called  them  "  yaws."] 


22  I    A 

"  Our  little  ee-wee  lamb,  the  last  seed  o' 
the  early  Saints,  and  the  child  of  our  peti- 
tions, la,  girl,  run  fore  an'  open  the  door  ; 
I  see  'Tholomew  Nance  and  his  wife  comin' 
along  the  quay.  Iss,"  he  resumed  as  the 
girl  went  out,  "  many  a  poor  widda-woman 
in  Ardevora — an'  the  fishing  makes  many 
here  —  hath  a-given  her  penny  that  you 
might  get  learnin',  an'  be  a  Preacher  fit  to 
hold  your  own  wi'  the  college-bred  Pa'sons; 
an'  hath  prayed  to  live  to  see  the  day. 
You  must  be  tender  with  us,  lad.  We  re- 
joiced exceedin'  when  the  Elect  in  Brixton 
lent  you  to  us  for  a  while.  'Tisn'  for  long. 
You  must  be  about  your  Father's  business. 
But  here  the  first  seed  was  sown,  and  shall 
us  not  look  'pon  the  harvest?  " 

Paul's  eyes  were  moist ;  but  before  he 
could  answer,  the  parlour  door  opened  and 
the  company  filed  in. 

They  were  Mr.  Carbines'  four  fellow - 
Elders,  whom  he  had  invited  to  eat  meat 
with  the  new  Preacher.  He  introduced 
them  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nance,  Huer  Lot, 
and  Eli  Tregenza.  Mrs.  Nance  wore  a  black 
alpaca  gown  with  a  white  cashmere  turn- 
over. Black  poppies  adorned  her  cap.  As 
she  curtsied  to  Paul,  the  poppies  nodded. 


A  LOVE  STORY  23 

The  three  men   wore  blue  jerseys  and  white 
moleskin  trousers,  very  clean. 

Salutations  over,  the  guests  took  off  their 
boots  and  shoes  and  stowed  them  in  the  cor- 
ner by  the  tall  clock.  Then  they  stood  awk- 
wardly while  la  brought  in  the  first  dish. 
'Tholomew  Nance  and  Eli  Tregenza  shot 
shy  admiring  glances  at  the  new  Preacher. 
Mrs.  Nance  stared  hard  at  Huer  Lot's  left 
big  toe,  which  protruded  from  his  blue 
knitted  stocking.  Huer  Lot  (a  bachelor) 
balanced  himself  on  one  leg,  and  tried  to 
cover  his  left  foot  with  his  right. 

"  That  will  be  conger-pie,"  said  Elder 
Carbines  cheerfully,  sniffing  and  nodding 
at  the  dish.  "  Shall  us  settle  to  table  ?  " 

He  arranged  them  :  Mrs.  Nance  on  his 
right,  Paul  on  his  left,  'Tholomew  Nance  by 
Paul,  Tregenza  by  Mrs.  Nance,  Huer  Lot  at 
the  foot  of  the  table.  The  table  being  a 
long  one,  Huer  Lot  sat  at  an  uncomfortable 
distance  from  the  rest.  The  Chief  Elder 
looked  at  Paul.  "  Will  you  ask  a  bless- 
ing?" 

Paul  looked  down  on  his  plate.  "  For 
what  we  are  about  to  receive  may  the  Lord 
make  us  truly  thankful,  Amen,"  he  said. 
All  the  company  repeated  "Amen  "  loudly, 


24  I  A 

and  sat  down.  Then  the  awkward  silence 
began  again.  "  After  the  Preacher,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Nance,  when  the  Chief  Elder 
invited  her  to  pass  up  her  plate  for  the  first 
helping.  But  Paul  declined  to  be  helped 
first. 

"  The  wind  will  be  getting  into  the  south 
at  last,"  said  Mr.  Carbines  pleasantly. 

Eli  Tregenza  answered  him.  Eli  was  a 
long  man  with  iron-grey  whiskers  and  slop- 
ing shoulders.  He  sat  very  high  at  table. 
"  It  shifted  with  the  tide,"  he  said.  "  The 
Almighty  has  given  us  a  hard  winter." 

"  Have  you  much  distress  here  in  win- 
ter?" Paul  asked. 

"A  little  dufflin'-cider,  Sister  Nance?" 
and  "  The  Lord  watches  over  His  Elect," 
began  the  Chief  Elder  and  Mr.  Nance  to- 
gether. Mr.  Carbines  gave  way.  "  The 
Lord  watches  over  His  Elect,"  Mr.  Nance 
repeated,  "and  will  by  no  means  leave 
them  without  a  sign.  My  son  Cornelius — 
he  will  be  about  your  age,  sir,  an'  has  a 
boat  of  his  own — my  son  Cornelius  was  up 
fishing  by  Lundy,  back  in  November,  an' 
brought  word  that  he  found  great  numbers 
o'  conger  up  there  was  floating  'pon  top  o' 
the  water,  bellies  uppermost — or  stomachs, 


A  LOVE  STORY  25 

that  is  to  say,  if  you  like  it  better.  When 
he  told  me  that,  then  I  knew  that  anything 
might  happen." 

"  But  we'd  got  the  cold  weather  long  be- 
fore that,"  Mr.  Carbines  objected.  "  "Twas 
the  cold  killed  the  conger ;  the  conger  didn't 
foretell  the  cold.  '  Anything  might  happen  ' 
— Iss,  fay,  the  sky  might  fall;  then  all  poor 
souls  'd  have  larks."  It  was  notorious  that 
the  Chief  Elder  thought  rather  too  freely, 
and  let  his  tongue  run  away  with  him  at 
times.  But  he  was  a  fish .  merchant  and 
prosperous ;  so  his  guests  (who  were  fisher- 
folk  merely)  kept  silence. 

"Anyhow,"  he  went  on,  "this  here 
conger  wasn'  taken  that  way.  la,  go  round 
v/i"  the  cider." 

"  I  could  tell'n  for  a  sand-conger  by  the 
piece  o'  skin  on  my  plate,"  said  Eli. 

"  Iss,  'a  was  light-coloured.  la  took  'n 
at  low  water  yesterday.  She  was  dabblin' 
on  the  Clean  Sand  at  low  water,  felt  my 
gentleman  wriggle  under  her  toes,  an'  dug 
'n  up.  Forty  -  seven  pound  weight  and 
nigh  two  feet  in  girth,  an'  the  rest  of  'n's 
gone  to  Penzance  market." 

la  removed  the  plates  and  the  remains  of 
the  conger -pie,  and  brought  in  a  second  pie, 


26  I  A 

which  Mr.  Carbines  announced  to  be  a 
"squab." 

"  Nothing  but  honest  mutton  and  hoardin* 
apples  chopped  small,  an'  a  dozen  limpets  an' 
an  onion  or  two,  to  give  it  a  flavour." 

"  When  I  was  a  girl,"  began  Mrs.  Nance, 
frowning  to  her  husband  to  brush  off  a 
crumb  of  pastry  that  had  lodged  in  a  fold  of 
his  jersey.  "  When  I  was  a  girl  'twas  quite 
a  trade  here  to  make  the  congers — the  little- 
sized  ones  —  into  conger-doust.*  You  cut 
'em  down  lengthy- ways,  spread  'em  abroad, 
sewed  half  a  dozen  by  their  edges,  an'  dried 
'em  on  a  frame,  like  a  sheet.  Vessels  used 
to  take  'em  aboard  regular  from  Penzance, 
for  the  Pope  of  Rome  and  his  followers  to 
grate  into  their  heathen  soups.  There  was 
fair-maids, f  too.  Nowadays  'tis  naught  but 
balking  and  pickling ;  but  there  was  a  time 
when  half  the  pelchurs  [pilchards]  sent  out 
of  Ardevora  was  fumed  wi'  smoke.  Why, 
in  that  very  store,  Mr.  Heathcote,  sir,  where 
your  blessed  great-grandmother  saw  the  An- 
gelic Vision,  I've  heard  tell For  na- 
tion's sake,  girl !  " 

But  it  was  too  late.     la  had  bent  over, 

*  Conger-douce,  or  sweet  conger. 
f  Fumadoes. 


A  LOVE  STORY  27 

with  a  jug,  to  refill  Mr.  Nance's  glass.  Her 
wrist  brushed  Paul's  shoulder.  Her  hand 
shook.  Haifa  pint  of  dufflin' -cider  poured 
over  the  young  Preacher's  sleeve. 

He  pulled  out  a  handkerchief  and  began 
to  mop,  protesting  that  no  harm  was  done. 
The  girl  set  down  the  jug  and  ran  out. 
Nobody  spoke  for  a  while.  Then  Mrs. 
Nance  said — 

"  It  will  be  best  West  of  England  cloth  ; 
and  shillin'  an  ell,  if  a  penny-piece." 

The  Chief  Elder  broke  out :  "Ad  beagle 
the  girl !  An'  I  promised  her  sixpence,  too, 
for  tending  the  table.  Well,  'tis  a  mercy  my 
daughter  wasn'  here  to  see  !  ' ' 

"A  bad  haveage,"  *  said  Mrs.  Nance. 
"  The  girl's  father — John  Rosemundy — mar- 
ried a  cunning  woman  from  behind  the 
hills,  an'  the  maid  favours  her.  They'm 
none  of  Ardevora.  The  man  came  for  the 
seaning  from  t'other  side  of  the  Duchy,  an' 
settled  here.  There's  no  harm  in  him ;  a 
good  fisherman;  but  sam  -  soaked,  f  I'm 
told."  She  tapped  her  forehead  significant- 
ly. The  men  nodded. 

"  Rigs  his  boat  cutter-fashion,"  muttered 

*  Parentage. 

f  Half-cooked,  silly. 


28  I  A 

Eli  Tregenza.  At  that  time  the  only  rig 
used  in  Ardevora  was  the  standing  lug. 

Paul  was  about  to  ask  a  question,  when 
Huer  Lot  rose  to  his  feet.  Hitherto  the 
Huer  had  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  table  without 
opening  his  mouth,  except  to  eat  and  drink. 
But  now  the  spirit  came  upon  him  suddenly, 
and  shone  in  his  mild  sloe-black  eyes. 

"  Fellow-elect,"  he  began,  and  the  others 
rose  at  the  word  ;  "let  us  gi'e glory  to  God 
together,  that  hath  granted  His  Saints  at  last 
to  sit  at  meat  wi'  the  young  man,  the  come- 
ly child  of  our  long  striving.  Lord,  we  gi'e 
Thee  glory  for  'n,  and  beseech  Thee  to  bless 
'n,  that  his  net  may  search  in  deep  waters 
an'  gather  men  an'  women  to  Thy  king- 
dom. And  if  it  please  Thee,  Lord,  still  to 
turn  us  to  his  use — to  tie  us  of  old  faith  as 
buoys  upon  his  head-line — well.  But  if  not, 
yet  may  we  bless  Thee,  saying,  Lord,  no:v 
lettest  Thou  Thy  servants  depart  in  peace,  for 
their  eyes  have  seen  Thy  salvation.  Amen." 

All  said  "Amen,"  and  sat  down  again. 

"The  next  dish,"  Elder  Carbines  an- 
nounced, "  is  a  lamb-tail  pie." 

He  rapped  on  the  table  with  his  knife- 
handle — signal  for  la  to  bring  in  the  new 
dish. 


A  LOVE  STORY  29 

But  when  the  door  opened,  there  ap- 
peared, not  la,  but  an  elderly  woman,  very 
red  in  the  face. 

"If  you  please,  maester,  her's  tossed  off 
cap  an'  aipernt  *  an'  rinned  f  out  o'  door." 

*  Apron.  f  Run. 


II 


la  lay  face  downward  on  the  sands,  her 
hands  clasped  behind  her  head.  Thirty 
yards  down  the  beach  the  hollow  green 
breakers  roared  at  her.  Behind,  the  Towans 
hid  her  from  sight  of  all  living  creatures  but 
the  gulls,  and  even  from  their  sight  she 
wished  to  be  covered.  She  had  spoilt  the 
young  Preacher's  fine  new  coat. 

She  lay  with  her  head  bare,  and  her  shoes 
and  stockings  tossed  aside  a  little  distance. 
Her  toes  dug  restlessly  into  the  sand.  Other- 
wise, she  lay  quite  still. 

On  the  Towans  the  young  grasses  were 
pushing  under  the  first  warm  sunshine  of  the 
year.  All  the  flowers  in  the  turf  stirred  in 
their  winter  sleep,  and  began  to  dream  of 
spring.  Shame  lay  on  la  for  her  clumsiness 
and  the  spoiling  of  the  Preacher's  coat ;  but 
in  the  root  of  her  heart  something  more 
than  shame  was  moving. 

Until  her  twelfth  year — when  her  mother 
died — la's  parents  had  lived  "behind  the 


A  LOVE  STORY  31 

hills,"  where  their  only  near  neighbour  was 
an  old  Irishwoman,  who  smoked  a  black 
pipe  upside-down  and  told  the  most  wonder- 
ful stories.  When  John  Rosemundy — who 
did  not  like  her — was  away  at  the  drift-fish- 
ing, this  old  woman  would  come  at  night  to 
keep  his  wife  company  and  drink  with  her. 
Often  and  often  la  had  been  beaten  for  steal- 
ing out  of  bed  to  listen  to  their  tales. 

Part  of  one  came  into  her  head  now,  and 
she  began  to  say  it  over  to  herself — 

' '  One  day  Dcirdre  and  her  maidens  took 
their  needlework  out  into  the  sun  to  the  hill- 
side behind  the  house.  As  they  sat,  three 
men  came  journeying  round  the  foot  of  the 
knoll.  Deirdre  looked  at  them,  and  began 
to  wonder.  When  they  came  near,  she  said  : 
'  These  must  be  the  three  sons  of  Uisncch, 
and  the  midmost  is  Naois,  for  he  is  the  tall- 
est and  most  beautiful.''  The  three  men 
went  by  without  so  much  as  a  glance  up  at 
the  maidens.  But  in  that  moment  love  of 
Naois  entered  the  heart  of  Deirdre,  and  she 
rose  and  caught  up  her  robe,  and  left  her 
maidens,  and  went  dawn  the  hill.  She  went 
ajtt-r  the  men  that  went  past  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  and  they  were  hastening,  for  the  dusk 
was  coming  on.  Then  she  stretched  out  her 


32  I  A 

arms  and  fried :  '  ATaofs,  Naois,  son  jf  Uis- 
ncch,  will  you  leave  me  ?  ' 

la  looked  up.  Two  men  were  coming 
along  the  beach  towards  her  and  towards  the 
town.  They  came  on  the  soft  sand  in  the 
din  of  the  surf,  and  were  within  fifty  yards 
of  her  before  she  saw  them.  One  was  a  little 
man,  and  rode  on  a  white  ass.  He  carried 
a  small  mahogany  box  slung  before  him — 
a  medicine  chest.  The  white  ass  and  the 
medicine-chest  made  the  famous  Dr.  Ham- 
mer of  Laregan  recognisable  at  any  distance. 

Beside  him  walked  a  strapping  young 
fisherman  with  a  handsome  but  rather  too 
serious  face,  which  lit  up  at  sight  of  la. 
She  had  risen  from  the  sand,  and  was  drop- 
ping a  curtsy  to  the  Doctor. 

"  Fine  day,  la;  I  thought  you  was  tend- 
in'  on  the  new  Preacher  ?  ' ' 

"Fine  day.  Joel;  I  thought  you  was 
fishin'?" 

The  Doctor  drew  rein,  and  fixed  la  with 
his  fierce  grey  eyes — terrifying  eyes  under 
bushy  grey  brows. 

"  H'm,"  said  he,  "  a  comely  girl.  '  The 
new  Preacher,'  hey?  And  what  does  the 
new  Preacher  say  ?  Has  he  told  you  yet 
that  you're  a  comely  girl?" 


A  LOVE  STORY  33 

"No,  sir." 

"  He  might  have  said  worse.  Did  he 
send  you  forth  to  roll  here  in  the  sand  and 
promise  to  send  out  every  man  and  woman 
in  Ardevora  to  do  the  same?  Has  he 
prophesied  pestilence  for  Ardevora  this  year? 
And  is  he  now  cleansing  its  drains?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Then  he  is  a  fool.  And  you  say  it  is 
good  weather,  and  you  are  a  fool.  For  it  is 
a  dry  February,  and  this  is  already  the 
third  case  of  French  croup  that  I  am  going 
to.  Bide  but  a  few  days  on  the  beach  here, 
and  you  will  see  my  white  jackass  coming 
again ;  and  after  that  again  and  again.  I 
bring  him  this  way  because  the  salt  sand  ' ' 
— he  nodded  at  la's  bare  ankles — "  is  good 
for  the  feet  of  jackasses. ' ' 

He  rode  forward.  The  young  fisherman, 
Joel  Spargo,  lingered  a  moment. 

"  The  widow  Toms'  little  girl  was  took  at 
eight  o'clock  this  mornin',"  he  explained. 

"  You  must  have  jailed  *  along  fast  to 
fetch  'n  so  quick?" 

"  I  thought,  when  we  came  'pon  you 
first,  the  poor  mite  must  be  gone  around 
land.  You  looked  to  ha'  been  cryin'." 

*  Hurried. 
3 


34 


I  A 


la  liked  Joel  Spargo.  She  and  her  father 
were  looked  upon  askance  in  Ardevora,  as 
strangers  from  "  behind  the  hills;"  and, 
except  in  seaning  times,  managed  their  fish- 
ing alone.  This  young  man  was  one  of  the 
very  few  who  gave  them  friendly  words  or 
helping  hand.  To  be  sure,  he  would  do  a 
kindness  for  anybody. 

But  she  turned  from  him  now  in  sudden 
unreasoning  anger,  and  walked  off  towards 
the  To  wans  without  a  word.  Joel  Spargo 
stared  after  her  for  a  while ;  then  turned 
sharp  on  his  heel,  and  rejoined  the  Doctor. 

That  same  night  la's  little  sister  Jenifer 
stretched  an  arm  in  her  sleep  and  awoke, 
finding  no  one  beside  her  in  the  bed.  la 
stood  by  the  window  in  her  night-shift. 
She  had  pinned  a  shawl  across  the  pane,  and 
stood  there  muttering  to  herself. 

Jenifer  saw  all  this  by  the  light  of  a  candle 
burning  on  the  window-sill.  As  her  eyes 
got  accustomed  to  it  she  saw  also  that  the 
candle  had  got  two  skewers  stuck  through 
it  crosswise. 

"What  are  you  doing,  la?"  the  child 
asked  sleepily. 

la  turned  sharply.  Her  elbow  caught  one 
of  the  skewers  and  knocked  the  candle  over 


A  LOVE  STORY  35 

on  the  floor,  dashing  out  the  light.  In  two 
seconds  she  was  back  in  bed,  hugging 
Jenifer  in  her  arms  and  sobbing  and  laugh- 
ing together. 

"  Let  me  go,  la — you  are  hurting  me." 
' '  Very  well,  honey  ;  but  I  must  have  my 
arms  round  you.  Widow  Toms  has  lost 
her  little  'Liza  to  -  night.  Joel  Spargo 
knocked  wi'  the  news  just  as  father  was 
makin'  home*  the  door." 

Then  Jenifer  cried  a  little  for  the  dead 
child,  and  the  two  sisters  dropped  asleep  in 
each  other's  arms. 

*  Shutting  fast. 


Ill 

11  THERE'S  the  kitchen,"  said  old  Mrs. 
Baragwanath  ;  "  that's  for  us.  There's  the 
parlour  here ;  that's  for  you,  sir.  An'  there's 
two  bedrooms,  one  lookin'  over  the  road, 
an'  t'other  looking  out  to  sea — we've  a-put 
you  into  that.  But  if  you'd  rather  over- 
look the  road,  you  shall." 

"  If  I'm  not  turning  you  out,"  said  Paul, 
as  he  unpacked  his  box  of  books,  "I'd 
rather  have  the  room  facing  the  sea." 

"  Well,  now,  I'm  glad  o'  that.  No,  we 
don't  look  out  to  sea  more  than  we'm 
obliged,  my  man  an'  me.  You  see,  we  had 
two  sons  once,  an'  it  swallowed  the  pair. 
But  I'm  main  glad  you  like  the  sea-room. 
From  the  window  here  you  can  see  the 
light  quite  plain  on  Ardevora  quay ;  an' 
a  back  door  outside  at  the  end  o'  the  pas- 
sage. You've  only  to  slip  a  bolt  and  you'm 
out  in  the  yard — out  to  your  boat,  if  you 
choose  to  keep  one.  But  the  yard  is  a  tidy 
little  place  to  walk  up  an'  down  in  an'  make 


A  LOVE  STORY  37 

up  your  sermons,  with  none  to  overlook 
you  but  Samuel,  and  he  hammerin'  away 
at  his  boat-buildin',  too  daft  to  take  any 
notice." 

She  crossed  her  hands  in  front  of  her  waist 
and  stood,  looking  very  shrewd  and  benign 
in  her  short-skirted  grey  gown  and  mob  cap. 
Though  over  seventy,  she  had  a  bright  black 
eye  and  the  complexion  of  a  girl. 

"Samuel  gets  a  bit  totelin'  ;  *  but  we 
mustn'  complain  after  all  these  years.  We 
was  born  within  a  week  of  each  other,  an' 
I've  heard  my  mother  tell  how  it  vexed  her 
that  his  mother  should  have  a  man-child  and 
she  a  maid.  The  two  women  wasn'  cordial 
for  years  after ;  but  God,  you  see,  sets  all 
things  to  rights  in  the  end.  Oh,  yes, 
Samuel  is  happy  enough,  tiddling  about  his 
workshop;  and  now  and  then,  maybe,  he 
gets  a  ship  to  charm,  and  picks  up  a  few 
shillin's  that  way." 

"  A  ship  to  charm  ?  " 

"  Ay,  he  takes  witchcraft  off  the  vessels; 
he's  very  good  at  that.  It's  gettin'  rare 
now,  but  I've  knowed  him  sent  for  twice  in 
a  week,  to  step  over  to  Penzance  to  charm  a 
ship.  Why,  two  or  three  owners  used  to 
*  Foolish  with  age. 


33  I  A 

club  together  and  pay  him  so  much  a  year 
— quite  a  tidy  little  sum " 

"  But  this  is  heathenish  !  "  Paul  cried  ; 
and  he  gave  her  a  sound  rating  then  and 
there.  The  old  woman  took  it  very  humbly. 
She  did  not  tell  Paul  that  many  shillings  of 
this  ill-gotten  money  had  found  their  way 
to  London,  to  pay  for  his  education.  But 
she  told  her  husband  that  night,  with  glee 
and  pride,  of  the  chastening  rebuke  she  had 
got  from  Preacher,  all  to  herself. 

Paul  resolved  to  take  an  early  occasion  of 
preaching  against  the  belief  in  witchcraft. 
But  for  his  first  sermon  he  had  fixed  on  the 
theme  of  Original  Sin,  after  consulting  with 
the  Chief  Elder,  who  agreed  that  a  good  be- 
ginning was  half  the  battle.  The  first  de- 
mand of  the  Saints  was  for  ex  tempore  preach- 
ing ;  but  in  dread  of  the  first  Sunday  ser- 
vice Paul  wrote  this  sermon  out  on  paper  and 
committed  it  to  memory.  He  wrote  through- 
out Friday  night  and  Saturday  morning.  On 
Saturday  afternoon  he  took  a  brisk  walk 
among  the  Towans,  reciting  the  salient  pas- 
sages aloud  to  himself  and  the  gulls.  In  the 
evening  he  made  a  few  corrections  and  re- 
peated the  whole  from  memory,  watch  in 
hand. 


A  LOVE  STORY  39 

By  ten  o'clock  his  work  was  done.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Baragwanath  had  long  since  gone 
to  bed,  and  the  cottage  was  quiet.  Paul 
opened  the  casement  of  his  small  parlour,  and 
looked  out.  The  moon,  still  crescent,  but 
within  three  days  of  full,  had  just  mounted  to 
her  zenith  in  a  clear  sky  flashing  full  with 
stars.  A  faint  south-west  wind  murmured  on 
the  roof  and  broke  the  river  into  ripples  for 
the  moon  to  shine  upon.  Paul  heard  the 
tide  sucking  by  the  quay-ladder  across  the 
yard,  and  the  tumble  of  the  breakers  on  dis- 
tant beaches.  His  gaze  wandered  forth  be- 
yond the  jumbled  timbers  and  black  shad- 
ows in  the  yard  to  the  misty  sea  and  misty 
coastline ;  to  the  red  light  steady  on  Ar- 
devora  quay ;  thence  upward  to  the  moon. 
The  wine  of  his  own  eloquence  danced  in 
his  blood  ;  and  as  he  watched  the  moon, 
his  thoughts  and  ambitions  soared  with  her. 

A  slight  sound  drew  his  eyes  down  to  the 
quay-door  across  the  yard — a  door  with  two 
flaps,  which  stood  open,  breaking  the  straight 
shadow  of  the  wall  with  a  square  of  moon- 
light. 

In  this  square  of  moonlight  Paul  now  saw 
the  upper  part  of  a  human  figure,  framed  as 
in  a  picture. 


40  I  A 

It  sent  a  sharp  chill  down  his  spine.  He 
leaned  forward  out  of  the  window  and  chal- 
lenged— bating  his  voice  in  the  darkness. 

"Who  are  you?  What  is  your  busi- 
ness ?  " 

There  was  no  reply  for  a  moment,  though 
he  felt  sure  his  voice  must  have  carried  to 
the  quay-door.  The  figure  paused  for  a  sec- 
ond or  two,  then  unbarred  the  lower  flap  of 
the  door  and  advanced  beyond  the  wall's 
shadow  to  the  centre  of  a  moonlit  patch  be- 
fore the  window.  It  was  the  figure  of  a 
young  woman.  Her  head  was  bare,  and  her 
sleeves  were  turned  up  to  the  elbows.  She 
wore  no  cloak  or  wrap  to  cover  her  from  the 
night  air,  and  her  close-fitting  bodice  was 
open  at  the  throat.  As  she  turned  up  her 
face  to  the  window,  the  moonlight  fell  full 
on  it,  and  Paul  recognised  la  Rosemundy. 

"  Preacher,  Preacher  !  "  she  whispered. 

"What  is  it?" 

"I've  come  to  fetch  you.     Old  Missus 
Slade's  a-dyin'  to-night  over  yonder  " — she 
nodded   in    the   direction  of    Ardevora  — 
"  an'  you'm  wanted  there,  quick  as  possi- 
ble." 

"  She  wants  me?  " 

"She's one  of  the  Elect.     I  reckon  she've 


A  LOVE  STORY  41 

got  something  'pon  her  mind.  She  can't 
die  easy  till  you've  seen  her,  an'  I  was  to 
fetch  you  over  quick  as  I  could. ' ' 

The  tall  clock  in  the  room  behind  him 
struck  the  half  -  hour.  Paul  looked  at  his 
watch. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "I'll  come.  I 
suppose  it  will  take  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
to  walk  round  ?  ' ' 

"  You'll  not  need  to  walk,  an'  you 
needn't  wake  up  anybody  in  the  house.  I've 
brought  father's  boat  to  the  ladder  below, 
and  with  this  wind  we'll  get  across  in  half 
the  time  it  would  take  to  walk.  I'll  bring 
you  back  again  all  right.  You've  only  to 
step  out  here  by  the  back-door.  And  wrap 
yourself  up,  for  'tis  a  brave  distance." 

"  I  suppose  it's  serious?  " 

"  Mortal.  I'm  glad  you'll  come,"  she  said 
simply. 

Paul  nodded  ;  and,  going  back  into  the 
room,  slipped  on  his  overcoat,  picked  up  his 
hat,  and  turned  the  lamp  down  carefully. 
Then  he  groped  his  way  to  the  back-door, 
unbarred  and  opened  it.  la  was  waiting  for 
him,  still  in  the  bright  patch  of  moonlight. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  she  repeated. 
As  she  pulled-to  the  door  softly,  she  led  the 


42  I  A 

way  among  the  planks  and  heaps  of  sawdust 
and  scraps  of  rusty  iron  that  strewed  the 
yard. 

From  the  quay-door  a  ladder  ran  down  to 
the  water.  At  low  water  one  had  to  de- 
scend some  eighteen  feet ;  but  now  the  tide 
was  drawing  towards  full  flood,  and  left  but 
four  rungs  uncovered.  At  Paul's  feet 
rocked  a  small  cutter-rigged  fishing-boat, 
made  fast  to  the  ladder  by  a  short  painter. 
The  girl  stepped  lightly  down,  and  held  up 
a  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Paul  with  dignity  ; 
"  I  don't  want  help." 

la  made  no  answer  to  this  ;  but,  as  he  fol- 
lowed, moved  forward  and  cast  off  the 
painter.  Then  she  pushed  gently  away  from 
the  ladder,  hoisted  the  small  foresail,  and,  re- 
turning aft,  stood  beside  Paul  for  a  moment, 
with  her  hand  on  the  tiller. 

"  Haul  in  the  foresheet  and  belay,"  she 
said  suddenly. 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  helplessly. 
It  was  just  to  make  sure  of  his  ignorance 
that  she  had  spoken. 

"Never  mind,"  she  said;  "I'll  do  it 
myself. ' ' 

She  made  fast  the  rope.     The  mainsheet 


A  LOVE  STORY  43 

ran  out  on  its  block,  and  the  sail  began  to 
draw  as  they  glided  out  from  under  the  wall 
upon  the  breast  of  the  moonlit  river.  The 
soft  breeze  blew  behind  their  beam  and  car- 
ried them  swiftly  down  on  the  slack  water. 

At  first  the  Towans  rose  steeply  on  either 
hand,  casting  black  shadows  through  which 
the  boat  cut  an  arrowy,  phosphorescent  line. 
But  by-and-by  the  shores  grew  flat,  and  it 
became  hard  to  tell  where  sand  and  river  met. 
And  now  Paul  saw  the  curving  ranks  of  the 
breakers  and  a  broad  smooth  passage  divid- 
ing them.  Down  the  passage  the  boat  fled 
with  a  lazy  lift  of  her  bows,  and  shot  over  the 
river  bar  into  the  large  waters  of  the  bay. 

la  hauled  in  the  mainsheet  a  foot  or  so, 
and  the  water  began  to  hiss  before  them. 
For  a  mile  or  more  the  two  kept  silence. 
The  red  light  on  the  quay -end  shone  steadily 
ahead,  a  point  or  two  off  the  weather-bow. 
One  by  one  they  opened  the  riding  lights  of 
a  few  traders  at  anchor  beyond  ;  and  then 
the  white  walls  of  the  coastguard  station 
came  in  sight  and  the  house-roofs  ofArde- 
vora  glistening. 

Paul  knew  nothing  of  the  management  of 
a  boat,  but  it  struck  him  that  la  was  steering 
rather  wide  of  the  town. 


44  I  A 

"  I  thought  you  told  me,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  that  Mrs. — that  the  woman  v-ho 
sent  for  me — lived  in  Ardevora  town  ?  " 

la  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  in  Ardevora  town — Ardevora  par- 
ish. We'll  have  to  go  round  the  point." 

She  looked  away  as  she  spoke — looked 
out  under  the  sail  towards  the  north-east, 
where  the  light  flashed  on  Gulland  Point, 
now  well  on  their  starboard  beam. 

The  boat  was  one  of  a  class  rare  in  Arde- 
vora, but  common  enough  on  the  south 
coast,  where  they  serve  for  the  hook-and-line 
as  well  the  drift-net  fishing ;  clinker-built, 
about  twenty-seven  feet  in  the  keel  and  nine 
in  the  beam  ;  rigged  with  large  mainsail, 
gaff-topsail  (la  had  not  hoisted  this  to- 
night), and  foresail  setting  on  a  forestay, 
fastened  to  an  iron  bumkin  on  the  stem.  It 
had  no  deck  beyond  a  small  cuddy  forward, 
on  the  top  of  which  a  heavy  dew  was  gather- 
ing as  they  moved. 

"  Do  you  often  handle  this  boat  alone?  " 
Paul  asked. 

"Father  and  I  work  here  together,  most 
days.  Joel  Spargo  helps  us  when  we  take 
the  net,  an'  sometimes  we  get  a  small  boy 
to  come  wi'  us  for  a  penny  or  twopence. 


A  LOVE  STORY  45 

It's  a  four-man  job,  by  rights.  But  Joel 
and  father  are  both  very  strong  men." 

"And  you?  " 

She  let  go  the  tiller  for  a  moment,  took 
his  hand  by  the  wrist  and  laid  it  on  her  bare 
right  arm.  It  was  round  and  smooth,  but 
firm  as  a  man's.  Paul  withdrew  his  hand, 
without  finding  anything  to  say.  She  took 
the  tiller  again  and  leaned  back,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  straight  ahead  upon  the  misty 
stretch  of  sea  beyond  the  Point. 

In  a  minute  or  two  they  were  passing  out- 
side the  land,  almost  in  the  cliff's  shadow. 
The  wind  fluked  for  a  few  seconds  and  then 
blew  steady  again  off  shore.  la  began  to 
flatten  the  sails,  and  asked  Paul  to  bear  a 
hand  with  the  sheets  as  she  luffed  a  little 
and  brought  the  boat's  nose  round  to  the 
westward.  Heeling  gently  over  the  dark 
water,  they  began  to  skirt  the  dim  shore 
with  the  breeze  on  their  left  cheeks. 

"  How  much  farther?  "  asked  Paul.  He 
wondered  if  his  duty  would  often  take  him 
on  such  journeys  as  this,  and  felt  thankful 
that  the  sea  was  smooth. 

"A  little  tighter  on  the  fore -sheet,"  said 
la,  nodding  towards  it. 

He  bent  down  to  haul  on  it.     As  he  did 


46  I  A 

so  he  felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and 
the  girl  stooped  and  kissed  him  on  the  tip 
of  the  ear. 

For  the  moment  it  took  away  his  breath. 

' '  How  dare  you  ?  "  he  stammered .  "Set 
me  ashore.  Where  is  this  house  you're  tak- 
ing me  to  ?  " 

la  drew  herself  up  and  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eyes. 

"  There's  no  such  place." 

"What!" 

"  There's  no  such  place.  There's  nobody 
ill  at  all.  I  told  you  a  lie. ' ' 

' '  You  told  me  a  lie — then  why  in  the 
world  are  we  here  ?  ' ' 

"Because — ah,  Preacher,  can't  you  tell? 
— because  I'm  sick  o'  love  for  you,  an'  want 
'ee  to  marry  me." 

"Are  you  mad?" 

"Ah,  but  consider,  consider!  Look  at 
me" — and  her  figure  seemed  to  dilate  and 
grow  taller,  as  she  stood  there  resting  a  hand 
on  the  tiller.  Shame  blazed  in  her  face,  and 
went  and  came  again ;  but  still  she  looked 
at  him  straight,  with  serious  eyes.  "  Be  I 
not  strong  ?  Be  I  not  comely  ?  ' '  With  a 
sweep  of  her  left  hand  she  loosened  the  knot 
of  her  hair  and  shook  the  splendid  black 


A  LOVE  STORY  47 

tresses  down  over  her  shoulders.  "  To-mor- 
row they'll  all  be  after  thee,  an'  this  is  my 
only  chance;  for  my  father's  a  very  poor 
man.  But  there's  none  stronger  to  work  for 
thee,  nor  that'll  love  thee  so  dear  !  " 

Paul  stamped  his  foot.  "  Set  me  ashore 
at  once  !  "  he  commanded. 

"  Nay ;  that  I  will  not,  till  thou  promise. 
Lad,  when  I  spilled  the  cider  over  thee, 
t'other  day,  'twas  my  hand  that  brushed 
agen  the  little  curls  behind  thy  neck,  an' 
shook  for  love  o'  thee.  An'  I  have  spells  ' ' 
— she  spread  her  tresses  wide  in  the  moon- 
light and  let  them  drop  back  rfpon  her 
shoulder — "  for  my  mother  was  a  cunning 
woman,  and  I  have  touched  Zennor  stone 
at  midnight.  I  have  spells  for  thee,  lad. 
Consent,  consent — an'  the  sorrow  be  on  me 
only!  " 

' '  I  never  heard  of  such  awful  impropriety 
in  my  life  !  Turn  back  !  I  order  you  to 
steer  back  to  Ardevora  at  once  !  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Nay,  lad  ;  I  will 
not.  An'  what's  more,  you  don't  know 
how  to  handle  a  boat,  an'  couldn'  get  back 
by  yoursel' — not  in  a  month." 

"  This  is  madness.  You — you  abandoned 
girl !  how  long  do  you  mean  to  keep  me  here? ' ' 


48  I  A 

"  Till  thou  give  in  an'  say  '  yes  '  to  me. 
We'm  goin'  straight  out  to  sea,  an'  turn 
back  I  will  not." 

"  Girl,  do  you  know  that  if  I'm  not  back 
by  daybreak,  I'm  a  ruined  man  ?  " 

"  And  oh,  man  !  Can't  'ee  see  that  I'm 
ruined,  too,  if  I  turn  back  without  your 
word  ?  How  shall  I  show  my  face  in  Ar- 
devora  streets  again,  tell  me?  " 

Under  this  sudden  transference  of  re- 
sponsibility the  young  man  fairly  staggered. 
' '  You  should  have  thought  of  that  before, ' ' 
he  muttered  feebly. 

"  O'  course  I  thought  of  it.  But  for  love 
o'  you  I  risked  all.  An'  now  there's  no 
goin'  back."  She  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  added  simply :  "  Why,  lad,  doesn' 
that  prove  I  love  thee  uncommon  ?  ' ' 

"  I  prefer  not  to  consider  it.  Once  more 
— will  you  go  back  ?  " 

"I  can't." 

He  bit  his  lips  and  moved  forward  to  the 
cuddy,  on  the  roof  of  which  he  seated  him- 
self sulkily,  la  tossed  him  an  end  of  rope. 

"  Dear,  better  coil  that  up  an'  sit  'pon  it. 
The  dew  '11  strike  a  chill  into  thee." 

She  took  up  her  old  attitude  by  the  tiller 
and  looked  steadily  ahead,  her  gaze  passing 


A  LOVE  STORY  49 

just  over  Paul's  hat.  When  he  glanced  up 
he  saw  the  dew  and  moonlight  mingling  in 
her  dark  hair  ;  saw  the  starshine  in  her  dark 
eyes.  Around  them  the  firmament  blazed 
with  constellations  up  to  its  coping.  Due 
west  upon  the  forestay  Orion  hung,  with  the 
Twins  above,  and  Sirius  sparkling  on  the 
brink  of  the  sea  to  the  southward.  Due 
south,  high  over  the  land,  Regulus  led  the 
eye  up  to  the  Great  Bear  swinging  right 
overhead.  Procyon  on  the  weather-bow; 
Hydra  a  little  before  the  beam  ;  Arcturus 
almost  astern — as  Paul's  gaze  travelled  round 
on  the  windward  side  it  encountered  these 
three  famous  stars,  and  all  at  about  the  same 
altitude  ;  while  low  down  in  the  north-east, 
white  Vega  peeped  under  the  boom-end. 
Forward  the  dusky  canvas  now  hid  and  now 
revealed  Aldebaran  and  the  Pleiades.  Never 
had  Paul  seen  stars  so  multitudinous  or  so 
resplendent.  Never  before  had  they  seemed 
so  alive  to  him.  He  could  almost  hear 
them  breathe.  And  beneath  it  all  the  little 
boat  raced  westward. 

Neither  spoke.  On  the  cuddy-top  Paul 
sat  and  nursed  a  dumb  rage.  The  whole  af- 
fair was  ludicrous,  but  it  meant  the  sudden 
ruin  of  his  good  name  and  of  the  hopes  of 


So  I  A 

the  Elect.  It  must  be  past  midnight,  and 
this  was  the  day  of  initiation — the  day  of  his 
First  Sermon !  Whenever  it  pleased  this 
mad  Amazon  to  set  him  ashore,  he  must  pack 
his  box  hastily  and  flee — but  whither  ?  To 
what  colony  of  the  Saints  would  the  tale  not 
pursue  him  ?  No ;  this  ended  his  calling, 
his  education,  his  ambitions — once  and  for 
all.  It  was  hard. 

A  star  shot  down  from  the  Milky  Way  and 
disappeared  in  darkness  behind  the  girl's 
shoulder.  His  eyes  following  it,  encountered 
hers.  She  left  the  tiller,  and  came  slowly 
forward. 

"  In  five  minutes  the  coast  turns  south'ard, 
an'  we  leave  land  behind.  Ay,  dear,  look 
at  me  :  that's  what  I've  wanted  'ee  to  do  all 
along.  Look  at  me,  for  I  perish  wi'  love. ' ' 

She  flung  both  arms  out  towards  him,  and 
broke  into  a  subdued  chant — a  love-song  of 
the  woman  of  her  mysterious  race — crooning 
it  in  her  throat  as  a  dove  croons  to  his 
mate — 

"  Long  before  day  I  left  my  father's  cottage, 

I  went  by  the  tamarisks  upon  the  hedges  by  the 

sea, 
Seeking  my  lovely  one,  my  comforter,  before  the 

morning. 


A  LOVE  STORY  51 

"  -My  brothers  three  lie  drowned  by  Dolor  Ogo  : 
They  call  in  the  night,  '  Little  sister,  when  is  the 

wedding  ? 

It  is  cold  waiting,  and  thou  a  drudge  in  our  fa- 
ther's cottage.' 

"  Now  must  I  go  and  whisper  them  '  Not  yet,' 
Not  yet ;  but  the  thyme  of  the  hedge  kisses  my 

naked  foot — 
So  will  he  kiss  me  soon,  and  comfort  me,  my  pretty 

lover. 

"  Then  will  I  kneel  by  him,  and  he  shall  bandage 
The  wounds  of  the  brambles,  and  I,  kneeling  be- 
side him, 

Sweetly,  my  arm  holding  his  waist,  will  kiss  him 
— ah,  when  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hands.  Hardly  knowing 
what  he  did,  the  young  man  took  them  ; 
then  in  a  moment  let  them  go — but  too  late. 
The  boat — its  helm  neglected — ran  into  the 
wind,  and  fetched  up  with  a  shiver  and  sud- 
den lurch.  Paul  staggered  :  before  he  could 
recover  his  balance  la's  arms  were  about  his 
neck. 

He  saw  her  parted  lips,  and  felt  her  warm 
breath  on  his  own.  With  that  he  accepted 
his  fate  for  good  or  ill.  He  drew  back  no 
longer,  but  bent  forward,  and  their  lips  met. 

At  once  la's  arms  relaxed.     Takinsr  his 


52  I  A 

two  hands  in  hers,  she  held  him  for  a.  mo- 
ment at  arm's  length,  searching  his  face  ; 
then  dropped  his  hands,  walked  aft,  and  put 
up  the  helm. 

"Cast  off  the  foresheet,  there,  an'  duck 
your  head.  I'm  goin'  to  gybe  her." 

So  they  headed  for  home. 


IV 


DING,  DING,  DING,  DING  !  went  the  bell 
above  the  conical  roof  of  the  Round-house. 
But  the  Saints  were  all  gathered  inside.  The 
four  male  Elders  wore  broadcloth,  and  each 
had  a  chimney-pot  hat  stowed  under  his 
seat.  Under  other  seats  rested  the  dinner- 
baskets  of  Saints  who  had  tramped  from  a  dis- 
tance. The  men,  as  a  rule,  came  in  their 
moleskins  and  best  Guernsey  smocks.  The 
women  in  Ardevora  are  fond  of  bright  ker- 
chiefs and  turnovers — yellow,  scarlet,  and 
violet — anything  but  green,  which  is  the 
piskies'  colour.  If  you  half-closed  your 
eyes,  these  kerchiefs  gave  the  effect  of  gay 
parterres  of  tulips  radiating  from  the  foot  of 
the  circular  pulpit.  Breaths  of  the  salt  sea 
entered  by  the  window  open  towards  the 
north,  and  mingled  with  odours  of  pepper- 
mint and  pomade. 

la  sat  between  her  father  and  Jenifer,  on 
one  of  the  back  benches  against  the  wall. 
She  wore  an  orange  handkerchief  over  her 


54  I  A 

head,  and  a  violet  one  over  her  shoulders,  to 
hide  the  scantiness  of  her  grey  stuff  bodice. 
The  bodice  this  morning  almost  suffocated 
her,  it  was  so  tight. 

Jenifer  shuffled  her  feet,  uneasy  in  Sun- 
day boots  ;  and  la  laid  a  hand  on  her  knee. 

"  Why  is  your  hand  shakin'  like  that?" 
the  child  whispered. 

DING,  DING,  DING  !  The  young  Preacher 
entered,  and  climbed  the  pulpit  stairs.  He 
had  a  Bible  in  his  left  hand,  and  a  roll  of 
paper.  His  face  was  as  white  as  the  paper  ; 
his  eyes  shone  feverishly  as  he  spread  out  the 
roll,  opened  his  Bible,  and  looked  around. 

The  bell  ceased.  "  Will  he  break  down  ? 
'Tis  a  terrible  trial,  the  First  Sermon  ;  an' 
he  feels  it,  poor  dear  !  "  said  the  congrega- 
tion in  their  hearts. 

But  la's  heart  cried,  "  Be  brave,  dear,  or 
we  are  broken  together  !  "  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  this  maid  tasted  woman's  an- 
guish, and  sat  sensitive  but  helpless,  her  hap- 
piness staked  on  a  man's  courage  and  skill. 

But  Paul  was  not  going  to  break  down. 
Feverishness  and  want  of  sleep  had  not 
driven  the  sermon  out  of  his  head,  but  had 
screwed  his  nerves  up  to  a  white  courage. 
His  wits  were  unnaturally  clear,  and  his 


A  LOVE  STORY  55 

voice  never  shook  as  he  gave  out  the  first 
verse  of  the  hymn.  When  the  hymn  ended, 
and  he  knelt  and  spoke  the  first  few  sentences 
of  prayer,  the  Saints  forgot  to  tremble,  and 
began  to  wonder. 

Here  was  not  eloquence,  as  they  under- 
stood it.  Here  was  no  sound  and  fury  and 
passion  strained  to  breaking-point ;  but  a 
natural  voice  pleading  like  a  child's — simple, 
direct,  infinitely  persuasive.  It  took  God's 
goodness  for  granted,  and  His  fatherly  con- 
cern in  human  aspirations  and  sorrows.  It 
touched  the  parental  instinct  in  these  men 
and  women,  whose  bowels  already  yearned 
over  the  lad  ;  and  more  than  one  woman 
wiped  her  eyes. 

la  sat,  faint  at  first,  as  the  danger  passed, 
then  elate.  Then  she  began  to  wonder,  too. 
By-and-by,  during  the  sermon,  her  wonder 
grew  to  something  like  terror. 

Vaguely  it  dawned  on  her  that  she  had 
been  bolder  even  than  she  knew;  that  Paul 
had  gifts  which  confer  distinction  in  spheres 
far  larger  than  Ardevora ;  that  she,  an  igno- 
rant girl,  had  thrust  herself  into  the  future  of 
one  who  might  become  a  very  great  man 
indeed. 

But  there  was  something  else.      The  ser- 


56  I  A 

mon,  though  it  affected  the  congregation, 
was  not  particularly  good  in  substance  ;  not 
at  all  good  in  comparison  with  the  prayer. 
The  thought  was  bookish,  undigested,  boy- 
ish ;  and  Paul  had  over-elaborated  the  style. 
True,  he  had  scarcely  given  out  the  text  be- 
fore he  swept  the  manuscript  with  his  elbow 
on  to  the  pulpit  floor,  and  there  let  it  lie. 
But  he  remembered  it  all  too  well. 

"  The  woman  whom  Thou  gavest  to  be 
with  me,  she  gave  me  of  the  tree,  and  I  did 
eat."  When  he  reached  this  point  in  the 
story  of  the  Fall,  how  feeble  his  comment, 
and  commonplace,  after  what  had  happened  ! 
And  yet  how  sincere  the  delivery  !  A  fine 
passion  shook  his  voice ;  just  shook  it,  and 
no  more. 

la  gazed  up  at  his  earnest  face,  gazed  with 
a  sudden  sense  of  desolation — a  sudden  feel- 
ing that  she  did  not  understand  him.  And 
yet  she  must  love  him  all  her  life. 

But  the  Saints  were  mightily  pleased. 
The  sermon  moved  them,  yet  not  so  deeply 
that  they  failed  to  count  Paul's  thumps  upon 
the  desk,  or  to  note  his  one  reference  to  ' '  the 
original  Greek."  As  he  came  down  the  pul- 
pit stair,  Huer  Lot  tarried  to  shake  him  by 
the  hand.  "  Mine  eyes  have  seen,"  he  said. 


A  LOVE  STORY  57 

"Mine  eyes  have  seen."  And  the  Chief 
Elder  waited  outside  to  convey  Paul  off  to 
dinner.  It  was  his  rule ;  roasted  beef  in  the 
winter  months,  and  roasted  duck  in  the  sum- 
mer, la,  too,  stood  among  the  small  bevy 
of  fisher-girls  on  the  green  outside,  but  Paul 
did  not  look  towards  her. 

"This  here  is  my  daughter,"  said  the 
Chief  Elder;  and  Bitha  Carbines  bowed 
and  shook  hands  with  Paul.  She  was  tall 
and  fair  and  pretty,  with  a  complexion  of 
cream  and  roses,  and  hair  upon  which  (peo- 
ple said)  she  could  sit  if  she  were  so  minded. 
The  three  moved  away  up  the  road — Mr. 
Carbines  in  the  middle ;  Bitha  on  his  right 
with  her  face  turned  a  little  aside  towards 
the  sea. 

"That's  to  show  'n  the  big  plait,"  re- 
marked one  of  the  girls  on  the  green.  "  He 
can't  turn  his  head  her  way  but  it  stares  'n 
in  the  face." 

"An'  her  features  look  best  from  the  left 
side,  as  everybody  knows." 

"  I  reckon  Bitha  Carbines  will  have  'n," 
said  a  lanky  girl  who  was  to  be  married  in 
three  weeks'  time  to  a  young  tinsmith. 
"  Well,  it's  no  odds  to  me." 

"I  wish   'twas  me,   then,"    laughed  the 


5»  I  A 

first  speaker.  "  I'm  more  the  colour  for  'n. 
Grace  is  fair-skinned,  an'  so  is  he ;  an' 
white's  mate  is  black,  they  say." 

"  Iss,  if  you  had  the  yellow  in  your 
pocket,  Lizzie !  " 

"  Ad  -rat  it  —  there  you  be!  I've  no 
money,  so  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  marry  pilch- 
ards, after  all;  but  I'm  fair  in  love  wi'  the 
Preacher,  ari'  that's  flat."  / 

la  heard.  Her  heart  sang  "  He  is  mine 
— mine — mine!"  She  took  little  Jenifer 
by  the  hand,  and  hurried  after  her  father  and 
Joel  Spargo,  who  were  far  up  the  road  by 
this  time,  trudging  homeward  side  by  side, 
and  talking — which  was  not  their  custom. 

"  I  dunno  what  made  rne  speak  it,  just 
now,"  Joel  was  saying.  "  Maybe  'twas  the 
sermon  made  me  feel  I  wanted  to.  When 
a  matter  like  this  is  on  your  mind ' ' 

"  Oh,  ay,"  answered  John  Rosemundy. 

"  I  reckoned  I'd  speak  to  you  first." 

The  two  tall  slow  men  walked  in  silence 
for  a  while. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  John  Rosemundy  repeated. 
"  Sure-ly."  After  another  pause  :  "  I'd  no 
idee.  Lad,  ye  musn'  think  but  what  I'm 
pleased.  If  la  says  'iss'  to  'ee,  I'll  not 
say  '  nay.'  But  she  must  decide." 


A  LOVE  STORY  59 

"  O'  course." 

l(  O'  course,  o'  course — havin'  no  mother. 
Ye  won't  come  an'  take  a  bit  o'  dinner 
'long  wi'  us  ?  " 

"  Thank  'ee,  not  to-day.  I'd  be  bashful, 
an'  might  choke.  Maybe  I'll  step  round 
once  for  the  afternoon " 

But  here  la  caught  them  up,  and  the  two 
men  were  dumb. 


JOEL  did  step  round  to  the  Rosemundys' 
cottage  after  dinner.  He  had  even  taken 
heart  to  tie  his  neck-cloth  into  a  "  courting- 
bow."  But  he  did  not  find  la. 

High  up  on  one  of  the  hills  behind  Arde- 
vora,  la  lay  at  full  length  in  the  brown 
bracken  and  watched  the  undulating  moor- 
land between  her  and  the  town.  A  granite 
cromlech  flung  its  shadows  over  her  ;  this 
was  the  landmark  to  guide  her  lover.  Right 
underneath,  the  rains  had  cut  a  narrow  gully 
down  the  side  of  the  tor — a  gully  that  wi- 
dened when  it  reached  the  lower  slope,  and 
became  but  a  green  hollow. 

On  one  of  the  spurs  beside  the  green  hol- 
low a  black  figure  came  into  view,  climbing 
the  hill-side.  It  was  Paul.  la  stood  up 
and  waved  to  him  to  come  up  by  way  of  the 
gully.  He  saw,  understood,  and  turned 
aside  into  it.  At  first  it  was  easy  walking 
on  good  turf;  but  by-and-by  the  slope  be- 
came abrupt,  the  turf  gave  place  to  naked 


A  LOVE  STORY  6 1 

granite  with  dry  fern  between,  and  at  last 
he  had  to  use  his  hands  and  scramble  up  by 
a  stairway  of  heaped  boulders.  He  heard 
la's  laugh  above  him.  But  when  he  strug- 
gled out,  and  stood  panting,  on  the  grass  at 
the  foot  of  the  cromlech,  she  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  He  stared  up  at  the  great  mass 
of  granite.  Another  laugh  seemed  to  come 
from  the  very  heart  of  it.  Above  the  first 
tall  slab  of  rock  he  spied  a  cleft,  about  a 
foot  wide,  with  daylight  shining  through. 
The  granite  gave  good  hand  -  hold.  He 
pulled  himself  up,  squeezed  through  the 
crevice,  and  found  himself  in  a  natural 
bower,  shaped  somewhat  like  the  hollow  of 
a  crown,  ringed  about  with  tall  rocks  and 
open  to  the  sky.  Leaning  against  the  rock 
furthest  from  the  entrance,  la  faced  him. 

She  was  laughing  no  longer ;  but  came 
towards  him  meekly,  and  shyly  touched  his 
hand. 

' '  It  was  splendid  !  ' ' 

"  What  was  splendid  ?  " 

"  The  service.  Dear,  you'm  a  great 
preacher."  She  blushed.  "I  wish  you'd 
say  that." 

"Say  what?  I'm  afraid  I'm  tired  and 
stupid." 


62  I  A 

"Say  'dear'— 'la  dear.'  " 

"la— dear." 

He  sat  down  with  his  back  against  a 
boulder,  and  took  her  hand. 

"  I'm  glad,  you  know.  I  was  afraid  you 
wouldn't  come,  an'  then  I'd  ha'  gone  an' 
drowned  mysel',  I  think." 

"But  the  risk?" 

"  No  risk  at  all.  The  way  you  came  is 
hid  from  Ardevora  side ;  an'  man  or  woman, 
boy  or  maid,  none  comes  nigher  the  Witch's 
Crown  than  they  can  help.  If  they  do — see 
here "  - 

She  jumped  up  and  ran  towards  an  open- 
ing in  the  rocky  parapet  that  gave  a  glimpse 
of  distant  hills  with  white  clouds  floating 
and  shining  above  them.  She  stepped 
through  the  opening,  threw  a  glance  back  at 
Paul,  and  leaped  over  out  of  sight.  With  a 
cry  he  sprang  up,  and  ran  to  the  parapet. 
la,  still  glancing  backwards  and  upwards, 
was  running  along  a  narrow  ledge  six  feet 
below.  She  passed  round  the  cromlech, 
and  disappeared.  Almost  before  he  could 
draw  breath,  he  heard  her  laugh  again  right 
above  him  ;  and  there  she  sat,  high  on  a 
flat-topped  stone  that  jutted  sheer  over  the 
verge. 


A  LOVE  STORY  63 

"  Come  down  !  "  he  called. 

Instead  of  answering,  she  began  to  sway 
her  body  to  and  fro  upon  the  stone ;  and  to 
his  horror  the  stone  began  to  rock.  He 
covered  his  eyes. 

In  a  second  or  two  she  had  slipped  down 
from  the  rock  and  stood  safe  at  his  side. 

"That  there's  a  logan,  dear;  no  fear  of 
its  topplin'  over.  If  you  want  to  be  a  witch, 
you've  got  to  come  up  here  at  midnight  an' 
climb  on  to  the  stone  nine  times  without 
loggin'  it.  My  mother  did  it  when  she  was 
a  girl,  an'  I  did  it  at  seven  year  old. 
Mother  came  with  me." 

la  was  showing-off  in  her  own  fashion. 
She  added — 

"  Bitha  Carbines  couldn'  do  that.  Be 
you  in  love  wi'  Bitha  Carbines  already?  " 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense.  And  look  here, 
la " 

"  la  dear." 

"  Look  here,  la  dear,  if  you  care  for  me, 
as  you  say  you  do,  we  must  be  married 
some  day;  and  then  you'll  be  a  Preacher's 
wife." 

"An'  sit  in  a  pew  just  beneath  you,  an' 
hear  your  beautiful  voice  runnin'  on  over- 
head, an'  feel  that  proud." 


64  I  A 

"Yes;  but  a  Preacher's  wife  mustn't 
have  these  foolish  notions  about  witchcraft 
and  the  like.  Her  heart  must  be  full  of  the 
fear  of  God,  and  she  must  be  educated ; 
and  then  some  day ' ' 

la  sighed ;  she  did  not  understand,  but 
felt  that  he  was  thinking  of  her  not  at  all, 
or  a  very  little  indeed. 

"Yes,  some  day,"  she  echoed.  "You 
shall  teach  me,  an'  I  will  learn  all  these 
things.  An'  you  really  love  God  like 
that?"  Paul's  cheeks  grew  red  at  once, 
and  his  eyes  bright.  "  Very  well,  dear, 
then  I'll  love  Him  too.  But  rest  'ee  here, 
for  now  your  cheeks  be  pale  agen  an'  tired. 
Shall  I  sing  to  'ee  now?  I've  a  very  pretty 
voice." 

Paul  sat  down  again,  with  his  back  to  the 
boulder ;  and  la,  beside  him,  holding  his 
hand,  began  to  sing.  But  again  the  sing- 
ing was  not  like  other  singing  known  to 
Paul,  but  low  and  almost  monotonous,  the 
voice  hesitating  here  and  there  over  irregu- 
lar rhythms  as  a  brook  runs  over  pebbles — 

"  Bend  your  ear  to  the  earth, 
Bend  your  ear  to  my  heart  ; 
The  earth  dreams  of  harvest, 
The  heart  thinks  its  thoughts. 


A  LOVE  STORY  65 

'  The  barley  reaches 
The  farmer's  arm-pit, 
And  bends  and  listens. 
The  rabbits  listen  — 
Was  that  the  whet  stone 
Or  only  the  corn-crake  calling  ? 

But  my  thoughts  grow  on 
Day  and  night,  fearing  nothing. 
Under  their  branches 
Is  my  face  hot  ? 
It  is  hot,  but  hot  freckled  — 
Hot,  for  you  plague  me. 
What  have  I  done  that  you  trouble  me  — 
trouble  me  ?  " 


The  shadow  of  a  homing  rook  swept  over 
the  hiding-place.  Paul  opened  his  eyes. 
la  still  sat  there,  holding  his  hand. 

"I  must  have  dropped  asleep,"  he  said. 
"What  time  can  it  be?" 

"You've  been  sleepin'  this  hour  and 
more.  '  ' 

She  rose,  stepped  to  the  parapet,  and 
looked  towards  the  north-east.  A  light  col- 
umn of  smoke  was  rising  from  the  hollow 
where  Revyer  lay.  This  meant  that  old 
Mrs.  Baragwanath  had  begun  to  boil  the 
kettle  for  such  of  the  Elect  as  came  from  a 
5 


66  I  A 

i 

distance  and  spent  the  whole  Sabbath  in  or 
about  the  Round-house. 

"  It  will  be  half-past  four  o'clock,"  said 
la;  "an'  just  an  hour  to  Prayer  Meetin'. 
Time  for  you  to  go,  dear.  Keep  straight 
on  towards  the  smoke,  an'  you'll  be  there  in 
five-an' -twenty  minutes." 

He  had  turned  to  pass  out  through  the 
crevice,  but  halted,  came  back  very  shyly 
and  kissed  her  for  the  first  time  that  day. 

la  laughed  happily. 

«  One  kiss  I  begged  of  'ee  last  night. 
'Hast  given  me  the  second  o'  thy  own  free 
will.  Not  even  in  thy  sleep  just  now  did  I 
steal  one." 

She  stood  by  the  parapet  looking  after 
him  as  he  walked  over  the  moor.  Half  a 
mile  from  Revyer  Valley  a  granite-paved 
road  descended  seaward  from  the  hills. 
Paul  had  crossed  it  but  two  minutes  before 
a  rider  hove  in  sight  on  the  ridge  above  and 
came  ambling  down  the  road.  Even  at  that 
distance  la  knew  him.  It  was  Dr.  Hammer 
of  Laregan  on  his  white  ass. 


VI 

FROM  that  day,  as  the  Doctor  had  prom- 
ised, his  white  ass  came  often  along  the 
sands  to  Ardevora.  No  rain  fell  in  Febru- 
ary ;  very  little  in  March ;  next  to  nothing 
in  April ;  and  again  none  in  May.  "  A  hot 
May  makes  a  fat  church-hay. "  By  the  mid- 
dle of  the  month  diphtheria  had  settled  to 
its  work  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town, 
among  the  alleys  that  the  folk  called 
"Down-along;  "  and  killed,  and  went  on 
killing. 

The  folk  were  slow  in  taking  fright.  It 
was  May-morning  that  first  woke  them  up 
to  the  truth.  On  that  day  the  children  dress 
up  garlands  of  flowers,  looping  them  with 
strings  of  painted  birds'  eggs;  and  carry 
them  from  door  to  door  and  beg  for  pennies. 
There  were  very  few  garlands  this  year.  One 
or  two  people  wondered  why,  and  asked. 

Still  for  some  time  they  attended  the 
Round-house  as  usual — those,  at  least,  who 
had  no  children  sick  at  home.  But  before 


68  I  A 

the  end  of  May  these  families  made  not 
much  more  than  half  the  congregation.  And 
then  there  began  to  be  much  talk  of  infec- 
tion. 

One  day  the  Doctor  came  down  the  mid- 
dle of  the  street,  leading  his  ass  and  looking 
serious  ;  and  happened  on  Joel  Spargo  sit- 
ting on  a  doorstep  in  Down-along  with 
Widow  Toms'  fifth  child — a  four-year-old 
maid — on  his  knee.  The  little  one  was  cry- 
ing, and  Joel  doing  his  best  to  soothe  her. 
No  longer  ago  than  Christmas  there  had 
been  two  sisters  and  two  brothers  to  invent 
games  for  her  ;  and  now  only  Tryphena, 
the  eldest,  was  left.  'Liza  had  gone  in  Feb- 
ruary, and  Caffy  (Calvin)  in  the  first  week 
of  May,  and  Billy  they  had  buried  that  very 
afternoon.  Her  mother  was  crying  for  him 
upstairs.  Small  Bathsheba  wept  bitterly  on 
Joel's  knee. 

"  Poor  mite  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  halting 
in  the  middle  of  the  street. 

"But  what  do  'ee  think  her's  cryin' 
for  ?  "  answered  Joel.  "  Why,  because  there 
was  no  saffern  cake  to-day,  same  as  when 
Lizzie  and  Caffy  was  buried;  and  her  says 
Billy's  funeral  wasn'  no  proper  one  at  all !  " 

"H'm!"     Dr.    Hammer   pulled   out  a 


A  LOVE  STORY  69 

penny,  and  told  the  child  to  rim  and  buy  a 
saffron  bun.  "  So  Widow  Toms  has  no 
money  to  buy  saffron  ? ' '  He  stood  silent 
for  a  moment,  frowning  in  his  heavy  way. 
"I  want  a  word  with  you,  Spargo.  You're 
a  bachelor,  with  a  house  of  your  own  ?  ' ' 

"  That's  it,  Doctor.     A  three-room  cot- 
tage— right  atop  o'  the  hill." 
' '  You  keep  house  alone  ?  ' ' 
Joel  nodded.     "  Ever  since  mother  died. 
She  an'   father  lived  in  it  all  their  lives. 
'Tis  too  big  for  me  ;  but  'tis  my  own,  an'  so 
I  live  there." 

"I'm  going  to  share  it  with  you  for  a  few 
weeks.     Things  are  serious  here." 
"  Kindly  welcome,  Doctor." 
"Run  up,  then,  and  heat  the  kettle  for 
me,  while  I  step  down  to  the  General  Wolfe 
and  stall  the  jackass.     To-morrow  you  shall 
take  him  over  to  Laregan  and  fetch  some 
medicines." 

By  the  time  Dr.  Hammer  found  his  way 
to  the  cottage,  Joel  had  the  kettle  boiling 
and  a  cup  of  tea  prepared.  But  the  Doctor 
carried  off  all  that  was  left  in  the  kettle  to 
the  inner  room,  and  spent  some  time  in 
washing  his  hands,  so  that  the  tea  was  over- 
drawn when  he  sat  down  to  it. 


70  I  A 

' '  Is  the  French  croup  worse,  Doctor  ?  ' ' 

"  It  is;  and  yet  the  French  croup  is  not 
the  worst." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir." 

"  You  have  heard  that  John  Trewhella 
was  taken  worse  last  night,  down  in  Street- 
an-Pol?" 

"  I  heard  some  talk  of  it,  on  the  quay 
this  mornin'.  He's  been  ailin'  for  days." 

"I'd  come  straight  from  him  when  I 
spoke  to  you  just  now.  I  called  in  again  on 
my  way  up  here.  I'd  used  up  all  the  water 
in  their  kettle,  the  first  time,  and  they  hadn't 
refilled  it.  I  think  water  and  fuel  are  both 
getting  scarce  with  them." 

"  I  know  they're  short  of  water,  down 
there." 

"  How  are  the  wells  holding  out,  here  on 
the  hill?" 

"  Pretty  fair,  considerin'  the  long  dryth. 
But  what  is  it  down  at  Trewhella's,  sir?  Is 
it  infectious?  " 

"  It  is  typhus." 

Joel  had  never  seen  a  case  of  typhus. 
But  he  had  heard  it  talked  about  by  men 
who  had  travelled  and  seen  it ;  and  its  name, 
falling  from  the  Doctor's  lips,  scared  him 


A  LOVE  STORY  71 

to  an  extent  that  we,  perhaps,  can  hardly 
realise.  Happily,  typhus  is  rare  no\v, 
and  grows  rarer.  In  those  days  it  was  all 
too  common,  especially  in  large  sea-port 
towns. 

"What  is  the  fishing  like,  just  now?" 
Dr.  Hammer  asked,  lighting  his  pipe  and 
seeming  to  change  the  subject. 

"Very  slight,  sir.  It's  been  slight  all 
the  year.  Most  o'  the  boats  are  coming 
back  empty  from  the  herrin's ;  and  home 
here  the  trawls  be  doin'  naught — naught 
but  a  few  flounders.  As  for  the  mackerel, 
there's  not  been  a  real  catch  this  spring." 

"  The  people  are  in  want,  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  A  good  few,  sir.  They  want  the  mack- 
erel badly,  to  tide  'em  over  to  July  an'  the 
pilchards.  Even  hake  be  as  scarce  as  nug- 
gets." 

"  H'm  1  "  The  Doctor  smoked  on  for  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then  asked  :  "Do  you 
know  of  any  woman  or  maid  in  Ardevora 
who  could  help  me,  these  next  few  weeks, 
with  the  nursing?  Mind,  I  don't  want  one 
who  thinks  she  knows  all  about  it ;  but  one 
that's  strong  and  handy,  and  that'll  ask  no 
questions,  but  stand  on  her  head  if  I  tell  her 
to  do  so." 


72  I  A 

"There's  Aun'  Mary  Johns,  the  wise- 
woman." 

"  The  wise  fiddle-stick  !  " 

"  Selina  Jago " 

"A  dolt!  " 

"  Mary  Maria  Bunney " 

"A  cake!  " 

"  Peter  Medlicoat's  wife " 

"  A  lump  of  a  woman  !     Try  the  maids. ' ' 

"There's  Minnie  Polsue." 

"  Strong  enough,  but  no  head." 

"  'Bias  Hendra's  daughter." 

"  Doesn't  know  B  from  a  bull's  foot !  I 
want  one  that  can  read  the  labels  on  my 
physic,  if  only  to  give  it  a  chance.  What 
about  that  girl  of  Rosemundy's?  She  looks 
to  be  capable.  Can  she  read  ?  ' ' 

"  la  ?  But  typhus,  Doctor  !  You  wouldn't 
set  a  girl  like  that " 

"Dear  me!  "  said  Dr.  Hammer,  taking 
the  pipe  from  his  lips  and  regarding  Joel 
with  lively  interest.  "But,  as  it  happens, 
'tis  with  the  diphtherite  cases  I  want  help, 
while  I  look  after  the  others  myself. ' ' 


VII 


"  So  you'm  Asenath's  daughter — well-a- 
well — fine  I  can  mind  her.  Eighty-odd 
year  I  be,  my  dears — eighty-two  or  eighty- 
three ;  you've  only  to  step  over  to  Wen- 
dron  parish,  an  the  register  '11  tell  'ee 
whether  'tis  eighty-two  or  eighty-three. 
Why,  your  mother  Asenath — Asenath  Cara 
— brought  her  man  over  here,  same  as  you'm 
bringin'  yours.  They  gave  the  word  to 
each  other  here  over  the  Noon  Water,  an'  I 
joined  mun  wi'  this  very  ring.  They  went 
down  to  Ardevora  to  live,  an'  there,  I  sup- 
pose, were  made  man  an'  wife  by  Holy 
Church.  Packman  Oliver  passed  this  way 
the  day  before  yestiddy,  an'  he  told  me 
there  was  a  lot  of  sickness  down  to  Arde- 
vora. ' ' 

"  'Tis  the  French  croup,  Aunt."  * 

*  Elderly  people  in  the  West  are  familiarly  ad- 
dressed as  "  Uncle  "  or  "  Aunt." 


74  I  A 

"  That's  bad  then  ;  there's  no  charm  agen 
that,  not  that  ever  I  heard  tell." 

Paul  and  la  stood  barefoot  on  the  reedy 
turf  beside  Noon  Water — a  tributary  of  the 
river  that  ran,  nine  miles  away,  by  Revyer 
Round-house,  the  river  on  which  the  two 
had  embarked  together  that  night  in  Feb- 
ruary. 

They  stood  in  the  heart  of  a  moorland — 
desolate,  hedgeless,  dotted  only  with  peat- 
ricks  and  a  few  unroofed  sheep-cotes  or 
bougees.  It  rolled,  apparently,  right  away 
to  the  sea  that  rimmed  it  on  three  sides  ; 
but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  under  the  rim  of  the 
moorland,  and  unseen  from  its  centre,  lay 
busy  fishing  towns  and  havens. 

Behind  them,  on  the  fourth  side — which 
was  the  eastern — a  high  and  barren  hill  rose 
between  them  and  that  civilisation  which  is 
England.  On  its  round  summit  a  few 
hummocks  stood  clear  against  the  blue 
sky.  There  were  the  remains  of  a  Roman 
camp. 

In  a  one-roomed  hut,  half-way  down  the 
side  of  this  hill,  whence  Roman  sentinels 
had  once  kept  look-out  for  sails  bound  from 
the  Cassiterides,  lived  Aunt  Alse,  and  medi- 
tated spells  older  than  the  Caesars.  The 


A  LOVE  STORY  75 

spring  that  welled  out  of  the  hill,  a  stone's 
throw  below  her  cottage,  was  older  yet. 
And  the  errand  on  which  Paul  and  la  had 
come  was  oldest  of  all. 

Paul  wore  a  sailor's  cap,  a  blue  jersey, 
and  trousers  of  shabby  blue  sea-cloth  tucked 
up  in  three  folds  above  his  white  ankles. 
The  garments  belonged  to  Joel  Spargo — 
poor  Joel ! — and  were,  in  fact,  his  foul- 
weather  suit,  left  on  board  the  Rosemundys' 
boat.  la  had  borrowed  them  without  ask- 
ing, and  Paul  had  donned  them,  three  hours 
ago,  inside  the  Witch's  Crown. 

"  White  hands  an'  white  ankles  ;  an'  what 
might  your  trade  be,  my  dear  ?  But  there," 
the  old  woman  went  on,  "  'tisn'  mine  to 
ax  questions.  Whoever  you  be,  Holy 
Church  can't  take  away  the  girl's  right  to 
'ee  once  you  gi'e  her  the  word  over  Noon 
Water.  Asenath's  daughter  knows  that, 
though  the  new  race  o'  maidens  be  forget  - 
tin'  it.  Step  across,  young  man.  You 
don't  happen  to  have  a  chaw  o'  baccy  in 
your  pocket  ?  Well,  never  mind ;  but  I 
dearly  loves  a  chaw  o'  baccy.  Step  across 
an'  stand  wi'  your  feet  in  tlv  water — so. 
Now,  my  dear,  you  stand  'pon  thicky  side, 
an'  gi'e  'n  your  left  hand — your  left  in  his 


76  I  A 

right — that's  it ;  now  take  the  ring  here  an' 
hand  it  across  to  'n — that's  right." 

The  ring  now  given  into  Paul's  hand  was 
a  band  of  pale  yellow  gold,  rough  on  the 
outside  and  crusted  with  dirt,  and  a  little 
broader  than  an  ordinary  wedding  ring. 

"Saracen's  gold,  honey,  an'  dug  by 
Sheba's  men  out  o'  these  very  hills.  The 
floods  o'  Deva  bain't  older  'n  that  there 
ring.  Now  say  after  me — but  tell  thy 
name  first." 

"Paul  Heathcote." 

"  Say  '  Paul  Heathcote,  over  this 
water'  "— 

' '  Paul  Heathcote,  over  this  -water  " — 

"  '  Takes  ' — say  her  name  "  — 

"  Takes  la  Rosemundy"— 

"  '  Over  this  water,  to  be  his  an'  his 
only'"— 

"  Over  this  water,  to  be  his  and  his 
only"— 

"  '  To  have  no  other,  an'  to  follow  no 
other,  so  long  as  this  water  shall  run. '  ' 

"  To  have  no  other,  and  to  follow  no  other, 
so  long  as  this  water  shall  run. ' ' 

"Now  'tis  the  maid's  turn."  In  her 
turn  la  gave  the  word.  "  Slip  the  ring  on 
her  ringer,  an'  say  '  Amen.'  That's  all ;  an' 


A  LOVE  STORY  77 

now  you  can  come  out  o'  the  water.  But 
hand  me  back  the  ring,  an'  don't  drop  it, 
or  else  you'll  be  unlucky.  Tell  me  some 
more  about  the  sickness  down  to  Ardevora." 

But  Paul  had  taken  la's  hand  again,  and 
was  examining  the  ring  on  her  finger. 

"  What  will  you  take  for  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

'•  Money  won't  buy  it,"  said  Aunt  Alse. 
"  "Tis  older  than  the  floods  o'  Deva,  that 
there  ring. ' ' 

But  finally  she  parted  with  it  for  three 
pounds,  which  Paul  counted  out. 

"I'm  an  old  body  an1  few  sweethearts 
come  now  to  Noon  Water.  Hundreds  have 
worn  the  ring,  first  an'  last ;  but  you  can 
have  it,  an'  may  it  bring  'ee  luck  !  I  won- 
der, now,  you  chose  May  month  to  come 
here — 

'  Marry  in  May, 
Rue  for  aye.'  " 

'•  Oh,  dear  !  "  cried  la  dolefully,  pausing 
as  she  laced  her  shoes.  "An'  I  clean  for- 
got." 

But  Paul  had  his  fill  of  superstitions  for 
the  time.  He  led  la  away  towards  Arde- 
vora. The  old  woman  stood  and  looked  af- 
ter them,  and  then  at  the  gold  in  her  palm. 


78  I  A 

"  None  o'  my  business,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  Packman  Oliver  told  me  his  name, 
day  before  yestiddy.  Laws  !  I  do  hope  no- 
body '11  come  an'  murder  me  for  all  thicky 
gold." 

She  climbed  up  to  the  hut  and  shut  her 
door  with  a  terror  she  had  never  yet  known. 

Paul  and  la  walked  for  a  mile,  neither 
speaking  a  word.  la  was  the  shy  one  now  ; 
and  Paul — she  had  taught  Paul's  heart  to 
beat  fast  in  her  presence,  or  he  had  never 
come  with  her  to  Noon  Water.  They  had 
plans.  Paul  would  go  for  a  holiday  to 
Bristol,  and  live  in  lodgings  there  for  the 
time  sufficient  to  get  a  marriage  license. 
And  one  day,  while  Ardevora  supposed  them 
to  be  away  at  the  fishery,  la  and  her  father 
would  sail  up  Bristol  river.  At  a  fitting  sea- 
son their  marriage  would  be  made  public. 
But  just  now  it  would  injure  his  prospects, 
perhaps  destroy  them.  Elder  Carbines,  for 
instance,  would  be  furious.  And  the  Elder 
had  a  great  plan  in  his  head ;  a  plan  so 
magnificent  that  he  had  as  yet  hardly  gone 
beyond  whispering  it,  even  to  Paul. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  next  ridge  the  lovers 
sat  down  by  Noon  Water  and  ate  the  pasties 


A  LOVE  STORY  79 

that  la  had  brought  with  her  in  a  white  nap- 
kin. They  had  no  cup;  but  Paul,  kneeling 
by  the  brink,  took  up  water  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hands,  and  held  it  out  to  la.  And  she 
bent  her  head  and  drank,  blushing  beauti- 
fully. 


VIII 

"  So  it's,  Dearest  dry  your  tears 
And  banish  all  your  fears, 
Sure  as  man  and  wife  we  be, 

You  shall  hear  the  drums  an'   the  trumpets  sound 
in  High  German-y  !  " 

IA  came  along  the  road  from  the  Towans, 
that  evening,  in  the  glory  of  the  sunset, 
singing  to  herself.  Over  on  Gulland  Point 
the  lighthouse  stood  up  like  a  pillar  of  bur- 
nished gold.  A  fish-jowter  overtook  and 
passed  her,  driving  home  his  empty  cart  at 
a  gallop ;  the  dust  he  flung  up  was  a  halo  of 
gold.  Ardevora  lay  in  the  purple  shadow 
of  the  peninsula,  a  fairy  town  on  a  fairy 
shore.  O  blithe  new  and  most  wonderful 
world  !  Her  heart  sang  like  a  bird  within 
her  as  she  kissed  the  ring  on  her  finger — 

"  You  shall  hear  the  drums  an'  the  trumpets  sound 
in  High  German-y  !  " 

She  kissed  the  ring  again,  slipped  it  off 
her  finger  and  into  her  pocket. 


A  LOVE  STORY  81 

On  a  triangle  of  dusty  turf  at  the  entrance 
of  the  town  a  handful  of  children  were  play- 
ing Three  Dukes  a-riding.  la  halted  and 
watched  them,  she  hardly  knew  why. 
Scores  of  times  she  had  played  the  game  as 
a  child  ;  but  now  she  seemed  to  see  into  the 
heart  of  each  child  playing.  O  world,  most 
new  and  wonderful ! 

"  Come  back,  come  back  !  you  Spanish  Knight, 
An'  clean  your  spurs,  they  be  not  bright." 

"  My  spurs  are  bright  as  rickety  rock,* 
And  in  this  town  they  were  not  bought, 
And  in  this  town  they  shan't  be  sold 
Neither  for  silver,  copper,  nor  gold, 

So  fare  'ee  well,  my  lady  gay.    .    .    ." 

A  small  six-year-old  girl  stood  on  the  far 
edge  of  the  green,  with  flushed  face  and 
heavy  eyes.  She  watched  the  play,  but 
took  no  part  in  it.  The  Dukes  chanted — 

"  We've  brought  your  daughter  safe  and  sound, 
An'  in  her  pocket  a  thousand  pound, 
An'  on  her  finger  a  gay  gold  ring, 
So  don't  refuse  to  take  her  in.     .     .     ." 

"la!  la  Rosemundy  !  "  One  of  the 
elder  girls  ran  up.  "  Come  an'  look  at 

*  =  "  and  richly  wrought." 


82  I  A 

Susie  Treleaven.  Us  dunno  what's  wrong 
wi'  her.  Her  face  is  all  queer,  an"  she 
can't  answer  us  !  " 

She  hurried  across  the  green.  The  little 
one  stood  there  with  a  pitiful,  bewildered 
look,  her  breath  corning  shortly  and  painful- 
ly, la  caught  her  up  in  her  arms  and  began 
to  run  towards  the  town. 

As  she  ran,  a  cold  shiver  took  her  and 
scattered  her  happy  visions.  She  heard  the 
children  pattering  after  her.  She  saw  the 
steep,  narrow  street,  the  rickety  houses,  the 
buckets  of  refuse  festering  in  the  causeway. 
She  smelt  the  familiar  odours  of  fish-offal  and 
rotting  sea-weed.  But  another  odour  was 
there — an  evil,  sickly  odour ;  and  a  pale 
fear  met  her  on  the  causeway  and  filled  the 
side-streets  like  a  mist.  So  real,  so  tangible, 
it  seemed,  that  twice  she  had  almost  un- 
clasped an  arm  from  her  burden  to  ward  the 
foul  thing  off. 

At  the  upper  end  of  Down-along  she  ran 
against  Dr.  Hammer,  who  was  mounting  the 
hill  slowly,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
and  talking  with  Joel  Spargo. 

"Doctor,  Doctor " 

"Hullo!  I  see,  I  see.  Hold  the  child 
so,  a  moment — head  a  bit  farther  back " 


A  LOVE  STORY  83 

He  drew  a  small  flat  silver  instrument  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket  and  slipped  it  between 
the  little  one's  jaws.  The  tonsils  were 
swollen,  and  one  had  a  grey  patch  on  it. 

"  Take  her  to  her  mother's  as  fast  as  you 
can,  and  put  her  straight  to  bed.  I'll  be 
there  in  less  than  five  minutes.  And  don't 
leave  the  house  till  I  come,  for  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you. ' ' 


IX 

AN  hour  later,  Dr.  Hammer  knocked  at 
the  Rosemundys'  door.  Their  cottage  stood 
in  the  same  street  as  Joel's,  a  stone's  throw 
down  the  hill.  Little  Jenifer  opened  to  him. 

"Your  sister  wants  you  to  make  up  one 
or  two  bits  of  clothes  in  a  bundle."  He 
held  a  scrap  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and  read 
out  the  short  list.  "  I'll  take  it  to  her. 
Tell  your  father  when  he  comes  home  that 
she's  down  nursing  the  sick,  an'  maybe  you 
won't  see  her  for  a  week  or  two.  And  he's 
to  keep  you  indoors  as  much  as  possible — 
mind  that ;  and  if  you  go  out,  it's  to  be  up 
the  hill  and  alone :  never  down  into  the 
town,  on  any  account." 

The  next  few  weeks  were  dull  for  Jenifer. 
She  sat  at  the  window  mostly.  The  Doctor 
and  Joel  passed  up  and  down  often,  and  Joel 
never  missed  to  give  her  a  nod  and  a  smile. 
And  sometimes — perhaps  twice  or  thrice  a 
day — a  woman  would  run  by  the  window, 
on  her  way  to  Joel's  cottage,  with  head  bare, 


A  LOVE  STORY  85 

clutching  a  child  to  her  breast.  Jenifer  knew 
most  of  the  children — had  played  with  many 
of  them,  and  longed  to  know  what  the  Doc- 
tor said,  and  if  he  cured  them.  But  her 
father,  when  she  asked,  never  seemed  to 
know  for  certain.  la  was  different :  la 
would  have  told  her. 

The  epidemic  reached  its  height  in  the 
last  week  of  June ;  and  after  that  the  wom- 
en ran  by  the  window  more  rarely.  Some 
still  ran.  But  Jenifer  decided  that  the  worst 
was  over,  and  that  la  would  soon  be  home 
again.  She  began  to  want  la  sorely.  For 
one  thing,  there  was  never  as  much  to  eat 
now  as  there  had  used  to  be.  Her  father 
was  always  forgetting  to  bring  home  proper 
food.  la  had  never  forgotten. 

One  night  a  glare  on  the  window  woke 
her  up  in  bed.  Somebody  had  lit  a  bonfire 
in  the  Lower  Town.  While  she  watched, 
another  glare  started  up  a  little  to  the  right 
of  the  first.  At  first  Jenifer  thought  these 
must  be  the  usual  Midsummer  fires.  But 
then  she  remembered  that  Midsummer  was 
past.  She  could  not  see  the  flames,  but  the 
glare  lasted  till  dawn.  After  this,  scarcely 
a  night  passed  without  one  fire  or  more  in 
the  Lower  Town. 


86  1  A 

For  as  the  diphtheria  dwindled,  the  more 
horrible  typhus  grew  and  spread.  July 
dragged  itself  out,  and  still  no  rain  fell,  or 
but  two  small  thunder-showers.  The  wells 
were  dry,  and  the  people  starving.  News 
of  the  town's  condition  had  spread  far  and 
wide  towards  the  end  of  June,  and  the 
country  people  came  no  more  to  market. 
The  trading-ketch  from  Penzance  put  in  no 
more  on  Tuesdays  and  Saturdays.  But,  in- 
deed, the  people  lacked  money  to  buy  food. 
Day  after  day  they  climbed  the  heights  and 
scanned  the  sea  for  the  pilchards,  now  long 
overdue;  but  no  pilchards  came.  In  those 
days  nine  families  out  of  ten  in  Ardevora 
had  much  ado  to  make  both  ends  of  the 
year  meet.  February  found  little  in  the 
cupboard.  The  mackerel  brought  relief 
with  the  spring ;  but  their  harvest  arrived 
late  in  June  or  early  in  July,  with  the  pilch- 
ards : 

"  Meat,  money,  and  light, 
All  in  one  night 

— and  a  store  to  carry   them   through  the 
winter. 

So  day  after  day  through  July  Ardevora 
watched  the  sea  for  succour,  and  the  sky  for 


A  LOVE  STORY  87 

rain.  Half  a  dozen  times  it  woke  to  find 
the  sun  muffled  in  soft  grey  clouds,  and  the 
people  said  :  "  Rain  at  last !  "  But  always 
before  ten  in  the  morning  a  beam  broke 
through,  and  the  grey  turned  to  a  milky 
white  and  vanished,  and  the  hard  blue 
stretched  overhead  once  more.  Or  a  vio- 
let thunder-cloud  rose  on  the  sea's  hori- 
zon, and,  coming  up  against  the  wind, 
passed  over  the  town  to  break  elsewhere. 
Or  white  cumuli  piled  themselves  on  the 
inland  hills  and  tumbled  about  their  sum- 
mits all  day,  and  then  lazily  withdrew.  All 
this  while  every  weathercock  in  the  town 
stuck  in  the  south-east ;  but  no  wind  blew, 
except  a  faint  off-shore  draught  towards 
evening,  when  the  people  sat  in  their  door- 
ways and  drew  long  breaths.  At  nightfall 
in  one  garden  or  another  would  begin  the 
burning  of  infected  linen  and  household 
stuff.  These  were  the  fires  that  Jenifer  saw 
from  her  window. 

In  the  first  week  of  July  five  :  in  the  sec- 
ond, twelve :  in  the  third,  eighteen ;  thus 
the  death-rate  mounted,  and  these  were 
deaths  from  typhus  alone.  On  the  fourth 
Sunday  morning  the  doors  of  the  church  re- 
mained locked.  The  Vicar  was  an  old  man 


88  I  A 

— a  pluralist,  who  lived  six  miles  from  Ar- 
devora,  in  a  parish  which  protested  against 
his  bringing  home  infection.  Ardevora  was 
left  to  bury  its  dead,  and  came  to  Paul  to 
perform  the  last  rites. 

For  Paul  stuck  to  his  post.  '-'He  has 
courage,  that  young  man,"  said  the  Doctor, 
who  had  lately  made  his  acquaintance; 
"  and  he  has  self-esteem  and  brains.  I 
wonder  how  he  reconciles  them  with  that 
crack-headed  faith  of  his." 

The  services  in  Revyer  Round-house  had 
ceased  ;  but  visits  to  the  sick  and  burials 
gave  Paul  plenty  of  work.  There  was  talk 
that  in  a  short  while  the  dead  would  have  to 
be  buried  in  a  common  pit. 

Over  at  Revyer,  old  Baragwanath  the 
boat-builder  heard  of  this,  and  at  once  set 
about  making  a  coffin  for  his  wife.  She  was 
in  good  health  as  yet,  but  he  told  Paul  : 
"  This  kind  of  work  bein"  new  to  me,  costes 
me  some  time.  If  aught  should  happen  to 
the  old  woman,  I  won't  risk  dependin'  on  a 
carpenter,  who  may  be  sick  hissel',  for  all 
we  can  foresee." 

The  services  had  ceased  in  Revyer  Round- 
house; but  one  Saturday  Paul  asked  the 
Doctor  if  there  would  be  any  danger  in  his 


A   LOVE  STORY  89 

assembling  the  Saints  under  the  open  air 
and  addressing  them. 

"If  you  speak  sense  and  comfort,  you 
will  do  more  good  than  harm.  Remember, 
their  bodies  and  spirits  are  brought  low 
enough.  What  would  you  say  if  I  attended 
and  gave  them  a  few  words  of  temporal  ad- 
vice at  the  same  time  ?  ' ' 


X 


WORD  went  round.  Next  day,  at  about 
three  in  the  afternoon,  a  company  of  three 
hundred  and  more  assembled  on  the  Island. 
There  they  seated  themselves  on  the 
scorched  grass -slope,  "parterre  by  parterre," 
like  the  multitude  in  the  Gospel ;  the  wom- 
en's kerchiefs  gay  as  ever,  and  the  whole 
effect  more  than  ever  like  that  of  raying 
tulip-beds  ;  for  these  children  of  tradition 
instinctively  reproduced  the  old  arrange- 
ment of  Revyer  Round-house,  and  formed 
a  rough  circle  round  the  hummock  on  which 
Paul  stood,  with  the  Doctor  at  his  elbow. 
A  few  held  up  umbrellas  against  the  sun. 
Below  them  the  air  quivered  over  Ardevora; 
beyond,  the  waters  of  the  bay  glanced  and 
sparkled.  Only  in  strained  faces  and 
sunken  eyes  could  you  read  that  these  men 
and  women  and  children  stood  in  direr  need 
of  loaves  and  fishes  than  did  the  crowd  by 
the  Sea  of  Galilee.  When  all  were  seated, 
Paul  gave  out  the  first  verse  of  the  Old  Hun- 
dredth, and  they  sang  it  together. 


A  LOVE  STORY  91 

Then  the  Doctor  spoke  to  them.  His 
manner  was  curt  and  sharp.  "  My  friends, 
you  are  in  a  mess.  You  have  to  accept  that, 
and  behave  with  sense  and  courage.  It  has 
come  upon  you  chiefly  through  your  own 
folly.  I  will  tell  you  how.  Then  I  hope  to 
draw  a  lesson  or  two  for  present  and  future 
use." 

He  told  them  first  of  the  diphtheria 
("  diphtherite "  or  "French  croup,"  he 
called  it)  ;  how  for  three  years,  from  1855 
to  1857,  it  had  ravaged  France;  and  how  it 
had  crossed  the  Channel.  "lam  talking 
of  the  seed  of  disease.  It  is  you  who  pre- 
pared a  midden-heap  for  it  to  sprout  on." 
He  spoke  of  spendthrift  landlords,  careless 
civic  life,  unsavoury  housekeeping;  of  over- 
crowded courts,  polluted  wells,  filth  on  the 
quay,  in  the  streets,  and  at  home.  He  spoke 
particularly,  giving  names.  He  took  the 
typhus,  and  traced  it  from  house  to  house, 
alley  to  alley ;  in  each  place  pointing  out 
some  predisposing  cause,  how  it  started  in 
Street-an-Pol,  how  it  spread  to  Jane  Mellin's 
house  in  Harmony  Rents,  why  it  raged  in 
Chypons.  From  the  pestilence  he  passed  to 
the  famine — '•  Predisposing  causes,  again." 
He  touched  on  the  fishermen's  earnings  and 


92  I  A 

short-sighted  expenditure.  He  then  wound 
up  a  few  words  of  severely  practical  advice 
with  this  peroration — • 

"  You  are  a  dolt-headed  people;  but  your 
hearts  are  better  than  your  heads.  I  have 
wintered  you  and  summered  you.  I  was 
looking  over  my  books  last  Christmas,  and 
find  I  have  helped  an  amazing  number  of 
you  into  the  world.  Since  I  can't  help  lik- 
ing you,  I  wish  to  go  on  and  help  you 
through  it.  There  is  an  old  woman's  tale 
that  in  the  cradle  of  every  third  man-child 
born  in  Ardevora  you  will  find  a  sea-shell, 
showing  the  death  that  waits  for  him  soon  or 
late.  That  is  foolishness,  of  course.  But 
the  sea  takes  heavy  toll  of  you.  Many  times 
when  I  have  seen  women  crying  on  the  quay- 
end  for  their  drowned  husbands,  I  have 
wondered  why,  since  the  sea  is  so  hard,  you 
men  should  not  get  a  compensating  amount 
of  happiness  out  of  the  part  of  life  you  spend 
ashore.  I  have  heard  that  people  call  me  a 
woman  -hating  Doctor.  I  will  tell  you  more 
about  that  when  you  show  me  a  clean  and 
brightly-kept  home  in  Ardevora." 

When  the  Doctor  ceased,  Paul  opened  his 
Bible  and  read  aloud — 

' '  He  that  divelleth  in  the  secret  place  of 


A  LOVE  STORY  93 

the  Most  High  shall  abide  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Almighty. 

"  1 will  say  of  the  Lord,  He  is  my  refuge 
and  my  fortress  :  my  God ;  in  Him  will  I 
trust. 

"  Surely  He  shall  deliver  thee  from  the 
snare  of  the  fowler,  and  from  the  noisome  pes- 
tilence. .  .  ." 

"Now  where  did  he  get  that  voice?" 
the  Doctor  asked  himself. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid  for  the  terror 
by  night ;  nor  for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by 
day  ; 

"  Nor  for  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in 
darkness  ;  nor  for  the  destruction  that  wast- 
eth  at  noonday. 

' '  A  thousand  shall  fall  at  thy  side,  and 
ten  thousand  at  thy  right  hand ;  but  it  shall 
not  come  nigh  thee. 

•%.  .;•«  ;jj  Jfc  ^c  :£ 

"  Because  he  hath  set  his  love  upon  Me, 
therefore  will  I  deliver  him  :  I  will  set  him 
on  high,  because  he  hath  known  My  name. 

' '  He  shall  call  upon  Me,  and  I  will  an- 
swer him " 

Paul  closed  the  book  and  knelt  on  the 
hillock  for  a  space,  praying  in  silence,  sur- 
rounded by  silence.  Then  he  rose,  and  gave 


94  I  A 

out  his  text:  "Isaiah,  thirty-two,  second 
verse — '  And  a  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding- 
place  from  the  wind,  and  a  covert  from  the 
tempest ;  as  rivers  of  water  in  a  dry  place, 
as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
land:" 

"  Come,  that's  not  so  bad,"  thought  the 
Doctor;  "  I  was  afraid  he'd  play  on  their 
terrors;  "  and',  after  a  minute,  "  But,  hulloa  ! 
— why,  this  is  genius  !  "  He  scanned  the 
people's  faces.  This  was  the  first  time  he 
had  heard  Paul  preach.  The  Saints  had  this 
advantage,  that  they  recognised  the  note — a 
note  of  confidence  in  God's  Fatherly  good- 
ness, as  childlike  now  and  unshaken  in  the 
midst  of  pestilence  and  famine  as  it  had  been 
on  that  first  Sabbath  morning  in  Revyer 
Round-house.  Having  tested  its  constancy, 
they  had  more  reason  to  trust  it. 

"  Those  that  be  planted  in  the  house  of 
the  Lord  shall  flourish  in  the  courts  of 
God."  Paul  turned  the  doctrine  of  Elec- 
tion to  his  hearers'  comfort.  He  spoke  as 
one  who  had  never  questioned  that  doctrine 
for  a  moment.  "  We  are  the  Elect.  But 
evil  has  crept  in  amongst  us.  God  is  purg- 
ing us,  and  will  stay  His  hand  in  His  good 
time."  Once  more  :  "  '  He  that  d  \velleth  in 


A  LOVE  STORY  95 

the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High  shall  abide 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty.'  A 
shadow  for  the  true  Elect !  The  shadow  of 
a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land  !  " 

And  the  Doctor,  scanning  their  faces, 
saw  the  conviction  work.  For  the  moment, 
on  the  glittering,  harvestless  sea  their  eyes 
beheld  the  shadow  of  God's  goodness  pro- 
jected ;  saw  it  coming  as  plainly  as  if  it  had 
been  that  purplish  moving  tint  by  which  the 
huers  descry  a  pilchard-school.  They  broke 
out  into  sobs  and  cries  of  "  Amen." 

On  the  other  edge  of  the  crowd  la  sat  and 
heard.  Since  that  day  spent  by  Noon  Wa- 
ter she  had  not  spoken  with  Paul,  except 
once  or  twice  beside  a  sick-bed.  In  this 
while  she  had  begun  to  pass  through  the 
greatest  change  that  women  undergo ;  dur- 
ing days  of  overwork  and  long  night- 
watches  ;  always  in  the  presence  of  suffer- 
ing and  terror. 

To-day  she  had  no  longer  that  uneasy 
puzzled  feeling  which  had  vexed  her, 
months  before,  in  Revyer  Round-house. 
God  had  suddenly  become  real.  And 
Paul,  too,  had  become  real  and  quite  com- 
prehensible. When  he  spoke  of  God  she 
saw  God  clearly.  Without  knowing  why, 


96  I  A 

she  felt  her  whole  body  hot  and  aglow  with 
happiness. 

But  the  Doctor  was  puzzled.  After  the 
service,  as  he  walked  down  to  Ardevora,  he 
muttered  to  himself — 

"  Great-grandmother  was  Cornish.  Queer 
things  that  mixture  of  blood  does  produce, 
to  be  sure.  Capable;  but  queer — always 
queer.  Seemed  to  believe  all  the  rubbish 
he  talked — a  prig — lacks  feeling,  somehow. 
Yet  what  fervour  !  And,  bless  my  soul, 
what  a  talent !  " 

An  hour  or  two  later  Paul  happened  to 
pass  through  Down-along.  The  Widow 
Toms  was  sitting  in  her  doorway  for  the 
sake  of  the  evening  breeze. 

"  How  is  little  Bathsheba  to-night?  "  he 
asked. 

The  woman  stared  at  him  for  a  second  or 
two  before  collecting  her  thoughts. 

"Doctor  says  she's  better.  Took  it 
milder  'n  the  others.  la  Rosemundy's  up- 
stairs 'tendin'  her." 

"  May  I  see  the  child?  " 

"Eh?  Aw,  of  course — of  course  !  Step 
up,  sir,  an'  welcome." 

Paul  climbed  the  stair  ladder.  In  the 
twilit  room  above  la  came  towards  him. 


A  LOVE  STORY  97 

"  Hush  !      She's    just    dropped    asleep. 
Listen  to  her  breathin'." 

"She  will  recover.  The  one  plague,  at 
any  rate,  is  lightening." 

"  Dear,"  she  whispered,  "  you  spoke  beau- 
tiful to-day.  Do  'ee  really  believe  it  ? — that 

if  the  folks  had  faith ' ' 

"  I  believe  it,  for  the  Bible  says  so.  If 
one  in  Ardevora  had  faith  but  as  a  grain  of 
mustard  seed,  this  plague  would  be  stayed." 
"Then  I'll  ha'  that  faith,  dear.  See 
here."  She  put  a  hand  in  her  bosom  and 
drew  out  a  paper,  tied  round  her  neck  with 
a  string.  She  broke  the  string,  and  handed 
the  paper  to  Paul. 

He  took  it  to  the  window,  unfolded  it, 
and  read — 

"JEHOVAH 
JAH  ELOIIIM 
SHADDAY 
ADONAY 
HAVE  MERCY  ON  MEE  A  WOMAN." 

"I've  a- worn  it  all  through  the  infection. 
Now,  don't  'ee  be  angry.  Tear  it  up.  I'll 
do  without  it.  I  will,  though  I  shan't  feel 
safe  first  along.  But  I'll  ha'  faith.  I  will 
ha'  faith  !  " 

The  head  of  the  Widow  Toms  appeared 
7 


98  I  A 

above  the  stairs.  She  was  followed  by  the 
Doctor. 

"H'm!  sleeping;  that's  good."  The 
Doctor  glanced  at  la,  who  turned  and  bent 
over  the  bed.  Something  in  her  manner 
made  him  look  sharply  towards  the  window, 
where  Paul  stood  crushing  the  torn  paper  in 
his  fingers. 

The  Doctor  touched  the  child's  pulse, 
listened  to  her  breathing,  and  whispered  a 
few  instructions  to  la. 

"  Too  many  of  us  here,"  he  said.  "  She 
will  pull  through  now,  if  she  has  sleep  and 
fresh  air."  He  walked  to  the  door,  and,  at 
a  sign,  Paul  went  with  him  downstairs. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you,  young  man." 

"Me,  Doctor?  " 

Their  voices  came  up  through  the  ill-filled 
planching.  As  she  smoothed  Bathsheba's 
pillow,  la  heard  them  distinctly. 

"  For  your  sermon  to-day.  You  gave  the 
people  just  what  they  needed  ;  and  you  gave 
me,  sir,  an  intellectual  treat.  Almost  you 
persuade  me  to  become  a  Second  Advent 
Saint.  But  you  won't  be  long  in  Ardevora. 
Man,  with  care  you've  a  great  future.  As 
a  beginning,  here's  Carbines  coming  down 
the  street  to  ask  you  to  supper. ' ' 


A  LOVE  STORY  99 

"  If  he  does,  I'm  afraid  I  cannot  stay.  I 
eat  supper  at  home  with  the  Baragwanaths 
on  Sundays.  Indeed,  I'm  late  already." 

la  heard  the  Elder's  greeting,  heard  the 
invitation  given  and  declined,  the  good- 
nights  said,  and  Paul's  footsteps  pass  away 
up  the  street.  The  other  two  lingered  by 
the  door. 

"  That's  a  fine  Preacher  of  yours,  Elder. 
He's  too  valuable  to  be  staying  here." 

"  As  I've  a-told  'n,  over  and  over.  '  Look 
here,'  I  says,  '  I  packed  my  Bitha  off  'pon 
the  first  news  o'  the  typhus ;  an'  it's  just  as 
silly  for  you  to  be  exposin'  yourself.'  You 
see,  Doctor,  he's  a  kind  of  investment  to  us 
Elect.  'Twould  never  do  for  'n  to  take  an' 
die  now,  after  what  we've  a-spent  on  'n. 
But  'tis  a  delicate  matter  to  put  to  the 
young  man." 

"  There's  other  infection  beside  typhus." 

"True;  tho'  I  dunno  what  you  mean, 
unless  it's  the  French  croup ;  an'  that,  you 
tell  me,  is  dyin'  down." 

"Well,  he  might  be  falling  in  love.  That 
wouldn't  suit  you,  hey  ?  " 

In  the  upper  room  la  held  her  breath. 
Then  she  stood  up  and  walked  across  the 
creaking  planks,  to  prevent  the  voices  strik- 


ioo  I  A 

ing  on  the  ear  of  Widow  Toms.  But  Wid- 
ow Toms  sat  on  a  stool  beside  her  child's 
bed,  staring  stupidly. 

"  No,  no  ;  but  there's  no  chance.  There's 
no  maid  here  of  his  station,  unless  'tis  Bitha. 
An'  Bitha  is  away  to  Penzance.  Not  that 
there  was  any  sign  o'  that  sort  o'  thing.  As 
the  girl's  father — aw  dear,  yes,  a  man  must 
look  after  his  own.  But  I  be  Chief  Elder, 
an'  there's  my  duty  to  the  whole  body  o"  the 
Elect — pussonal  feelin's  to  one  side.  I'll 
tell  'ee  something,  Doctor  :  for  'twont  be  a 
secret  much  longer  " — he  lowered  his  voice, 
and  la  caught  a  word  or  two  only,  here  and 
there — "  a  big  building  ...  up  there 
money  can  be  raised." 

"  They'd  better  send  it  down  here  to  fill 
hungry  bellies. ' ' 

la  could  not  hear  the  Elder's  answer. 

"  Well,"  the  Doctor  went  on,  "  get  them 
to  send  the  call  quick,  and  take  him  out  of 
harm's  way.  But,  Elder,  we  must  feed 
these  people  somehow.  I'm  coming  to  you 
to  head  a  subscription  list " 

"  To  be  sure  :  some  day — some  day." 
Mr.  Carbines  shook  hands  and  hurried  down 
the  street.  Dr.  Hammer  looked  after  him 
from  the  doorway  with  an  ironical  smile. 


A  LOVE  STORY  101 

Somebody  touched  his  elbow.     It  was  la. 

"  Doctor,"  she  demanded,  "  the  croup  is 
lessening,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  is,  girl.  Please  God,  we've  seen  the 
worst  of  that." 

"  Then  I  want  you  to  let  me  nurse  the 
typhus  cases. ' ' 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  asking, 
my  dear.  'Tis  more  contagious  than  the 
other  among  grown  people  :  and — h'm  ! 
well,  even  Joel  Spargo  tells  me  that  some- 
times— 'tis  as  much  as  he  can  do " 

"  Try  me,  please." 

"H'm!  I' 11  see  about  it." 

"  So — she  heard,"  said  the  Doctor  after- 
wards, to  himself.  "  Well,  I  meant  her  to. 
That  sort  of  thing  would  never  do  ... 
with  his  talents  .  .  .  Oh,  decidedly  I 
did  well." 


XI 

BY  the  second  week  in  August  the  typhus 
had  slain  a  hundred  and  thirty.  Still  no 
pilchards  came.  One  poor  catch  had  been 
made  by  a  few  drift-boats  that  had  pushed 
out  some  eight  leagues  into  the  open  :  but 
the  boats  were  undermanned,  and  the  fam- 
ine-weakened crews  had  to  pull  all  the  way 
home  under  a  burning  sun  and  against  faint 
head-winds  that  dropped  now  and  then  to 
absolute  calm.  Two  men  died  on  the 
way:  from  heat-stroke  or  exhaustion,  or 
both.  As  for  the  coast,  the  fish  had  clean 
deserted  it. 

It  had  come  to  this.  Famine  had  the 
people  in  a  corner  now,  and  was  closing 
for  the  last  sharp  tussle.  Dr.  Hammer 
grimly  chewing  a  straw,  had  leant  against  a 
post  on  the  quay  and  seen  a  crowd  beleaguer 
the  Chief  Elder's  house,  demanding  bread  : 
and  the  trembling  Chief  Elder  had  tossed 
them  money  in  handfuls — all  the  money  in 
the  house — while  the  Doctor  thought  of  the 


A  LOVE  STORY  103 

Subscription  List,  and  grinned,  and  mur- 
mured ' '  Bis  dat  qui  eito  dat. ' '  He  had 
bled  his  own  estate  at  Laregan  to  the  last 
drop  to  help  the  people,  and  could  do  no 
more  till  after  harvest. 

The  people  were  in  a  corner,  and  must 
break  out  or  perish  like  sheep.  Up  on  the 
hill  farms  the  farmers  kept  their  shot-guns 
loaded.  But  the  Doctor  and  Paul  had  still 
enough  influence  with  the  towns-folks  to 
prevent  a  general  march-out  and  attack  on 
the  countryside  :  though  even  this  was  de- 
bated. 

On  the  first  Sunday  in  the  month  a  wild- 
fire panic  ran  through  the  town.  Nobody 
knew  who  started  it :  but  the  cry  was, 
"The  boats!  Take  to  the  boats  !"  All 
that  day  the  lower  streets  were  crowded  with 
folk  carrying  down  their  household  stuff  to 
the  quay,  and  the  anchorage  with  boats 
hurrying  to  and  fro  like  bees.  That  night 
thirty  families  lay  aboard  the  fishing-vessels 
at  anchor. 

Next  day  the  exodus  continued,  and  the 
day  after.  But  the  disease  followed  and 
struck  them  in  the  crowded  boats  as  it  had 
struck  them  in  the  narrow  streets. 

It  reached  as  far  as  Revyer.     One  evening, 


104  I  A 

Boat-builder  Baragwanath  finished  the  coffin, 
called  his  wife  out  to  the  workshop  to  ad- 
mire it  and,  having  received  her  congratu- 
lations, went  to  bed  with  an  easy  conscience. 
Next  morning  he  woke  with  a  headache  and 
an  "all-overish"  feeling,  as  he  called  it, 
which  increased  until  the  afternoon,  when 
his  wife  sent  him  back  to  bed.  Three  days 
after,  the  typhus  rash  had  developed.  Dr. 
Hammer  had  been  called  in  on  the  second 
day.  Paul  came  for  him. 

"  Stay  here  till  I  return,"  said  the  Doctor ; 
and  when  he  returned,  it  was  with  Paul's 
box  and  portmanteau.  "Joel  Spargo  will 
give  you  a  bed  here,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
not  to  go  back." 

Then  he  went  down  to  Widow  Toms  for  la. 

"  I  am  going  to  accept  your  offer,  though 
I  feel  myself  a  brute.  The  case  is  a  bad 
one,  and  too  far  away  to  be  under  my  eye. 
And  the  old  woman  is  weak,  tottering.  It's 
not  pleasant,  you  understand.  .  .  ." 

la  thanked  him.     She  was  quite  ready. 

Dr.  Hammer  went  down  to  the  General 
Wolfe  and  saddled  his  white  jackass. 

"  Will  you  ride  ? — that  is,  if  you  can  keep 
your  balance  ? ' ' 

He  had  not  shown  so  much  politeness  to 


A  LOVE  STORY  105 

a  woman  for  many  years.  She  declined, 
and  they  set  off  along  the  sands  together,  the 
Doctor  astride  of  Ernest  William  (for  such 
was  the  beast's  absurd  name)  and  la  run- 
ning beside,  with  the  salt  wind  in  her  nos- 
trils and  her  whole  body  tingling  with  pure 
physical  joy. 

But  after  the  first  half-mile  her  breath 
came  short  and  fast,  and  her  heart  began  to 
thump  in  a  very  unusual  manner.  The 
Doctor  pulled  up. 

"  Indoor  life  has  put  you  out  of  condi- 
tion," he  said. 

They  walked  the  rest  of  the  way. 

"  Rosemundy's  gal  .  .  .  that's  right 
.  .  .  keep  her  there  .  .  .  lock  the  door, 
lock  the  door,  I  say !  .  .  .  she's  after  the 
Preacher  .  .  .  .  lock  the  door,  wife,  and  put 
the  shutter  up  ....  she's  after  'n  .  .  .  . 
don't  let  her  look  out  o'  window  .... 
quick,  there,  quick!  .  .  .  ." 

la  was  alone  in  the  room  with  the  old 
boat-builder,  when  he  lifted  himself  in  bed 
and  screeched  this  out  in  his  delirium.  She 
was  diluting  some  salts  of  potash  for  a  febri- 
fuge :  but  set  down  glass  and  bottle  sharply 
and  recoiled  against  the  wall. 


106  I  A 

The  patient  sank  back  and  began  to 
mutter. 

She  stepped  to  the  bed  and  shook  him 
gently  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Boat-builder — boat-builder  !  " 

"  Oh,  ay  " — he  began  to  mutter  again. 

"Boat-builder"  —  she  spoke  sharply — 
"  do  you  know  me  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  ay — Rosemundy's  gal  ....  let 
'n  be  now,  co'  !....'  After  this,  more 
muttering. 

la  sat  down  beside  the  bed,  and  thought. 

The  old  man's  ravings  never  came  round 
to  this  subject  again.  Indeed,  they  ceased 
on  the  second  day  of  her  nursing,  and  were 
merged  in  a  continual  low  muttering.  This 
went  on  for  four  days,  and  then  it,  too, 
ceased,  and  the  old  man  lay  on  his  back, 
semi-comatose,  his  eyes  half  open,  his  body 
(it  seemed  to  la)  constantly  slipping  towards 
the  bottom  of  the  bed.  He  died  on  the 
eleventh  day  after  the  typhus  took  him. 

His  old  wife  helped  la  to  wash  and  lay 
him  out.  She  was  very  shaky,  but  bright- 
eyed  and  practical  as  ever. 

"Fifty-two  year'  he  was  husband  to  me, 
my  dear.  The  Lord  brings  all  things  to  an 
end.  A  bit  foolish  towards  the  last  o'  his 


A  LOVE  STORY  107 

days,  but  always  very  thoughtful  for  me. 
He  shall  have  the  coffin  he  made  for  me — 
he's  a  slight  man,  and  failed  terrible  these 
few  days.  We  both  thought  to  live  to  see 
the  Lord's  Comin'.  Well-a-well !  I'll  step 
down  and  make  a  dish  o'  tea." 

While  the  two  women  sat  at  tea  in  the 
kitchen,  a  horn  sounded  up  the  road.  la 
looked  out  and  saw  the  travelling  postman 
coming.  He  called  "Good-evening"  to 
her,  and  held  up  a  letter. 

She  told  him  to  set  it  down  on  a  stone  by 
the  garden-gate. 

"  How's  the  old  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He's  gone." 

"  Dear  now,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it." 

The  man  climbed  the  hill  again.  la 
stepped  out  and  brought  the  letter  into  the 
kitchen.  It  was  addressed  to  "  The  Rev- 
erend Paul  Heathcote,  Revyer,  near  Ar- 
devora,  Cornwall. ' '  She  read  this  out. 

"  Better  take  it  to  'n  this  evening.  It 
may  be  important,"  said  Mrs.  Baragwanath. 

la  looked  up  and  caught  her  eye. 

On  a  sudden  impulse,  the  girl  stretched 
out  both  her  hands. 

"  Mother,  mother  !  I've  been  good  to  'ee 
—tell  me  what  you  know  !  ' ' 


io8  I  A 

"  I  was  dusting  his  room  one  day,"  the 
old  woman  began  unsteadily,  "  an'  I  saw  a 
letter.  'Twos  written  to  you  —  leastway, 
'twas  only  begun.  I  couldn'  help  lookin'. 
But  I've  never  told  a  soul — only  my  man. 
Deary,  you  won't  hold  'n  to  it  ?  You'll  let 
'n  go?  He's  the  pride  o'  the  Elect.  It'll 
make  so  much  difference  to  'n.  An'  a  man's 
love  idn'  worth  so  much  after  all — not  what 
maids  expect.  I've  been  two-an' -fifty  year' 
married — 'tis  so  much  trouble  as  joy.  You'll 
giv  'n  up,  deary?  " 

"I  can't,  I  dunno.  Swear  to  me  you'll 
never  tell  another  soul." 

"  It'll  make  so  much  difference  to  'n  !  " 

"  Swear  to  me  !  I've  been  good  to  'ee. 
I've  nursed  your  man.  Swear  to  me!" 
She  caught  the  old  woman  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Don't  hurt  me,  honey.  I'll  promise — 
on  the  Book,  if  you  like " 

la  picked  up  the  letter  again,  caught  a 
crust  of  bread  off  the  table,  ran  out  of  doors, 
and  across  the  work-yard.  She  cast  off  the 
Baragwanath'sboat  from  the  landing,  leaped 
down  into  it  and  began  to  pull — down  in 
the  dusk  towards  the  river  bar. 

Curiously,  her  brain  was  not  occupied 
with  Paul.  A  sudden  terror  possessed  her 


A  LOVE  STORY  109 

that  some  evil  had  befallen  her  sister  Jenifer. 
It  worked  in  her  mind  and  half-crazed  her. 

Night  came  down  on  her  as  she  crossed 
the  river  bar.  The  boats  off  Ardevora  hung 
out  their  riding-lights,  and  she  pulled  across 
the  bay  as  though  a  life  depended  on  her 
pulling.  When  she  turned  her  head  the 
lights  loomed  at  her  out  of  a  hot  haze.  Her 
breath  came  short  and  fast  again,  and  again 
that  palpitation  of  the  heart  began. 

"  Star  o1  Bethlehem,  ahoy  !  "  She  easied 
under  the  stern  of  the  nearest  lugger,  and 
hailed. 

"Ahoy,  there!"  A  dark  figure  leaned 
over  the  taffrail. 

"  Is  John  Rosemundy  in  his  boat  ?  " 

"  No,  I  reckon.  He'll  be  up  at  home. 
Hulloa — 'tis  Rosemundy's  gal.  How's  the 
boat-builder?  " 

"  He's  gone.  Is  father  all  right,  do  "ee 
know  ? — an'  Jenifer  ?  ' ' 

"  Iss,  I  b'lieve.  Ha'n't  heard  no  other. 
So  the  boat-builder's  gone?  Well,  I'm  sorry 
to  hear  it." 

la  pulled  next  for  the  quay,  made  her 
boat  fast,  and  ran  through  the  moonlit  streets 
and  up  hill  to  her  father's.  The  windows 
were  dark  and  the  blinds  drawn. 


no  I  A 

She  scraped  a  handful  of  dust  and  gravel 
from  the  causeway,  and  threw  it.  In  about 
half  a  minute  her  father's  window  opened. 

"  Hulloa  there  !     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Hush — it's  me — la.     How's  Jenifer?" 

"  Middlin',  I  b'lieve.  Leastways,  she 
was  complainin'  a  bit  afore  bed-time." 

"  Nothin'  like  the  croup?  " 

"  Bless  'ee  no.  She've  been  goin'  along 
capital.  You  can't  come  in,  I  s'pose?  " 

"  No  :  I've  come  from  Revyer.  Boat- 
builder  died  this  afternoon." 

"  You  didn'  bring  along  a  crust  o'  bread, 
hey?" 

"  Iss,  I  did.  But  there's  the  infec- 
tion." 

"I  ha' n't  ate  nothin'  for  twelve  hours — 
Jenifer  had  her  supper  all  right.  Toss  it 
up:  I'll  risk  it." 

la  tossed  up  the  crust,  wished  her  father 
good-night,  and  walked  rapidly  up  hill,  past 
Joel  Spargo's  cottage,  towards  the  western 
cliffs.  She  wanted  to  think  ....  to 
think  it  all  out  .  .  . 

Shortly  after  daybreak  Paul  opened  the 
door  of  Joel's  cottage  and  stepped  into  the 
street.  He  had  a  towel  in  his  hand  and  was 


A  LOVE  STORY  in 

setting  out  for  a  bathe.  Across  the  cause- 
way, in  the  sunlight,  he  saw  la  standing. 

"A  letter  for  you,"  she  said.  "  It  came 
to  Revyer  last  night.  Better  fetch  some 
sulphur." 

"Nevermind  the  infection."  He  took 
it  out  of  her  hand  and  broke  the  seal. 

"  It  is  coming,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Paul  stood  in  the  causeway  and  read  the 
letter  through :  folded  it  up :  frowned : 
opened  and  read  it  again.  "  Can  you  walk 
a  little  way  with  me  ?  I  have  something  to 
tell  you." 

"  It  is  coming,"  she  said  again  to  herself. 


XII 

THEY  walked  side  by  side  along  the 
ridge  above  the  town,  and  out  towards  the 
furthest  point  of  the  Island.  A  ruined  sea- 
mark stood  there  :  a  hollow  column,  broken 
short  by  some  long-past  gale  to  the  height 
of  twenty  feet,  with  a  tumble-down  spiral 
stairway  inside,  and  over  the  door  a  defaced 
inscription — "  To  the  Glory  of  God  and  for 
the  Protection  of  Commerce  and  Safety  of 
Manners  .  .  .  by  the  Corporation  of  the 
Trinity  House  of  Deptford  Strand.  .  .  . 
MDCC.  .  .  .  ."  The  rest  of  the  date  had 
perished. 

On  the  north-west  side  of  the  column,  in 
the  shade,  and  out  of  sight  of  any  strollers 
on  the  Island,  Paul  chose  a  seat  and  drew 
the  letter  from  his  pocket.  la  sat  down 
also,  at  a  little  distance. 

"  You  will  not  guess  what  this  says." 

She  nodded  her  head  slowly.  "  Maybe  I 
do." 

"It's  a  call.     Carbines  told   me  some- 


A  LOVE  STORY  113 

thing  about  it  a  week  since.  They  are 
building  a  great  place  for  me  up  in  London 
— I  ought  to  say,  they  talk  of  building — 
and  they  want  me  up  there  at  once  to  dis- 
cuss it.  Carbines  has  been  writing  about 
me." 

"  You  will  go,"  she  said.      "  Soon?  " 

As  she  asked  she  remembered  the  Doctor's 
words,  "  Get  them  to  send  him  a  call  quick, 
and  take  him  out  of  harm's  way." 

"To-day,  I  expect.  But  I  must  have  a 
talk  with  Carbines.  I  might  get  the  van 
from  the  General  Wolfe  to  take  me  over  to 
Four  Lanes  this  evening,  and  pick  up  the 
coach ' ' 

So  soon  !  She  bent  her  head  and  plucked 
at  the  wild  thyme  in  the  turf. 

"  It  is  a  great  chance — the  chance  of  a 
lifetime.  How  good  they  are  to  me,  these 
people!"  His  blue  eyes  glistened.  "la 
dear,  are  you  sorry  ?  ' ' 

"  I  am  sorry.  But  I  wouldn'  have  it 
other." 

"As  soon  as  ever  this  is  settled,  I  will 
write.  We  will  arrange  to  meet  and  be 
married  at  Bristol,  as  we  planned."  She 
was  looking  at  him  steadily  now.  "  It  will 
be  easy  for  me,"  he  went  on,  "  to  slip  down 
8 


U4  I  A 

there  from  London ;  and  less  chance  of  any- 
body guessing  than  if  we  both  started  from 
the  same  place.  Then,  when  the  time 
comes ' ' 

"No." 

"  I  was  saying,  when  the  time  comes ' ' 

"No." 

"  Dear,  I  don't  understand." 

"Ah,  no  !  But  I  have  thought — thought 
for  many  days — and  now  I  know,  sweet- 
heart, I  have  done  wrong.  But  you  shan't 
suffer  by  it :  'tisn't  too  late  to  stop  that. 
Go,  an'  God's  love  an'  mine  go  with  'ee. 
But  thy  ways  be  not  my  ways,  an'  my  place 
is  here  wi'  my  people." 

"But  la — after  all  that  has  happened! 
And  I  can't  do  without  you  !  "  He  tried  to 
draw  her  closer. 

"  The  good  of  you  to  say  it  !  The  happy 
to  hear!  "  She  threw  her  head  back  and 
searched  his  face.  A  word  yet  to  speak  and 
he  was  hers — bound  to  her  for  ever.  She 
would  not  speak  it.  But  would  he  guess  ? 
Would  God  send  the  miracle  ? 

God  sent  no  miracle  for  her.  She  loos- 
ened Paul's  hand  from  her  wrist.  "But  it 
isn'  true.  'Twouldn'  be  true,  not  if  you 
came  back  in  ten  vcars'  time  an'  said  it.  I 


A  LOVE  STORY  115 

be  no  fit  wife  for  'ee,  an'  you  know  it :  but 
a  woman  to  marry  on  the  sly,  too  ignorant 
to  help,  an'  a  burden  to  'ee  all  your  days ! 
Dear,  I've  got  my  pride  so  well  as  you. 
I've  a-loved  'ee,  these  months,  straight  brow 
an'  joyful  heart.  I'll  never  love  thee  other, 
and  you  will  do  me  shame  to  wish  it." 

She  stood  up  and  leaned  an  arm  against 
the  wall  of  the  watch-tower.  Paul  stood  up 
also.  His  eyes  were  bent  on  the  ground. 

"  We  have  done  wickedly,"  he  said  slow- 

iy- 

"  Have  we  ?  "  Her  voice  came  wearily. 
The  struggle  was  over,  but  it  had  been 
sharp,  and  she  was  tired. 

"Ah,  not  wickedly  !  "  she  cried,  after  a 
moment.  "Come."  She  stepped  in  through 
the  ruined  doorway,  and  he  followed.  The 
plastered  walls  inside  were  pencilled  over 
with  lovers'  names  and  initials.  "  Janie 
Sobey  courting  Sam  Hendra,"  "  Alse  Tre- 
gay  walking  with  Matthew  Henry  Coad," 
"Bessie  Bennetts  courting  Dick  Polsue " 
— in  that  Celtic  land  the  maids  did  the 
wooing. 

la  dropped  on  her  knees,  scraped  away 
some  rubbish  at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  and 
pointed  out  a  shy  inscription  in  the  smallest 


n6  I  A 

of  handwriting — "  la  Rosemimdy  courting 
the  Reverent  Paul  Heathcote,  May,  1860." 

"  I  wrote  it  there  where  nobody  could  see 
it :  an'  I  piled  the  rubbish  agen'  it,  to  make 
sure.  Forgi'e  me." 

"  I  will  come  again,  la." 

He  took  her  two  hands  and  kissed  her. 
Her  lips  twitched,  but  they  were  cold.  She 
looked  all  scared  and  helpless.  With  a  hand 
she  motioned  him  to  the  doorway,  and  he 
went. 


XIII 

AT  four  o'clock  that  afternoon,  a  yellow 
van  stood  ready  outside  the  General  Wolfe, 
with  a  grey  horse  between  the  shafts  and  the 
Preacher's  boxes  strapped  on  top.  A  small 
crowd  hung  about  the  tail  of  the  van,  wait- 
ing for  the  Preacher ;  and  a  line  of  women 
and  children  sat  along  the  causeway  opposite 
in  the  cool — all  sick  and  listless  and  starving. 

Paul  came  down  the  street,  talking  with 
Dr.  Hammer,  Elder  Carbines,  and  Elder 
Nance. 

' '  God  be  with  you,  Preacher !  ' '  said  a 
voice  in  the  crowd. 

"God  be  with  you,  people,  and  help 
you!  "  Paul  lifted  his  hat. 

A  woman  who  sat  and  suckled  a  child  in 
an  orrel  facing  the  General  Wolfe,  rose  up, 
snapped  her  fingers  and  cried  : 

"  That  for  God  !  Will  He  send  us  pilch- 
ards, or  won't  He?  " 

"Yes  He  will,"  Paul  answered,  halting 
and  looking  up. 


n8  I  A 

"When?" 

"  This  night,  if  there's  one  soul  in  Arde- 
vora  that  has  faith." 

He  shook  the  many  hands  held  out  to  him, 
and  stepped  into  the  van.  The  driver  called 
"  Cl'k  !  "  to  the  grey  horse,  and  off  they 
jolted  up  the  hill.  One  or  two  flung  a  bless- 
ing after  him.  Others  stared  only,  and  a 
deeper  shadow  fell  on  their  faces.  The 
crowd  broke  up  into  small  groups,  talked  for 
a  while,  and  dispersed — some  to  their  homes, 
others  towards  the  quay ;  but  all  moved 
listlessly. 

la,  at  the  back  of  the  crowd,  shut  her 
eyes  as  the  van  reached  the  top  of  the  street : 
for  it  is  unlucky  to  watch  a  ship  or  carriage 
out  of  sight.  When  she  looked  again,  it  had 
disappeared. 

"  He  has  left  them,"  she  murmured  :  "  he 
cannot  help  any  of  us.  My  people,  my 
people  !  ' ' 

Strangely  or  not,  having  renounced  her 
own  joy,  she  found  her  whole  heart  yearning 
over  these  people.  To  them,  at  least,  she  be- 
longed. With  a  great  price  she  would  have 
purchased  happiness  for  them  ...  a 
little  comfort  .  .  .  food  and  drink.  .  .  . 

"  If  there's  one   soul  in   Ardevora  that 


A  LOVE  STORY  119 

has  faith!" — the  words  sang  in  her  ears. 
She  stood  still.  Then  she  began  to  run  : 
up  the  street — past  the  green  where  the  chil- 
dren had  played  at  Three  Dukes — along  the 
high-road  to  the  verge  of  the  moorland. 
Here  she  caught  sight  of  the  van,  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  ahead,  and  jogging  smartly 
over  a  high  ridge  of  the  downs.  Its  window- 
panes  flashed  against  the  westering  sun,  so 
that  it  moved  in  a  blaze,  like  a  fiery  char- 
iot. In  a  minute  it  would  be  beyond  the 
ridge. 

She  could  run  no  farther,  her  heart  was 
palpitating  so  fast  and  hot.  She  fell  on  her 
knees  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  cried, 
stretching  out  her  hands  after  the  van  : 

"  My  lover,  my  lover — the  chariot  of 
Israel  an'  the  horsemen  thereof!  " 

The  van  dropped  out  of  sight  in  the  yel- 
low haze.  By  degrees,  her  heart  beat  less 
violently.  She  rose  from  her  knees  and 
walked  swiftly  homeward.  The  road  ran 
downhill  now,  and  was  easy.  At  the 
green,  instead  of  taking  the  road  down  into 
the  town,  she  held  on  by  the  higher  path 
that  led  along  the  chine  above  Ardevora  and 
out  to  the  end  of  the  Island. 

Here,  by  the  cliff's  edge,  she  found  Huer 


120  I    A 

Lot  sitting  on  the  look-out,  with  his  cow- 
horn  and  bushes  *  beside  him. 

' '  Any  signs  of  the  fish  ?  ' ' 

Huer  Lot  shook  his  head.  "  None,  my 
dear." 

"  They're  coming,"  said  la ;  "  go  higher, 
up  by  Goon  Glaze,  and  look  out.  In  five 
minutes  call  to  me.  Take  the  horn  along 
with  *ee." 

Perhaps  he  thought  the  girl  had  seen 
something,  for  up  he  went. 

"  I  see  none,"  he  called  down  at  last. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  rock  la  was  down  on 
her  knees. 

"  Go  higher,  and  wait  another  five  min- 
utes !  "  she  cried.  She  felt  the  fish  coming  as 
surely  as  gulls  forestall  the  wind.  She  began 
to  count — one  hundred — two  hundred 

"  A  gannet !     A  gannet !  " 

' '  Neva  !     Hcva  !     Heva  !  ' ' 

She  leapt  up  and  ran  towards  him.  He 
had  his  horn  to  his  lips  and  was  blowing  like 
mad.  With  his  left  hand  he  pointed  out 
towards  the  west.  la  shaded  her  eyes  and 
looked.  Yes,  there  in  the  west  a  dim  smear 
lay  on  the  sea,  in  colour  between  blood- 

*  Hoops,  fixed  on  short  wooden  handles  and  cov- 
ered with  white  linen  bags. 


A  LOVE  STORY  121 

red  and  purple.  It  was  no  shadow,  no  ruf- 
fle of  wind  :  it  was  fish  !  A  solitary  bird — 
a  gannet — was  busy  above  it. 

"  How  long  before  dark?  " 

"Two  hours  an'  a  little  over.  I'm  jeal- 
ous there'll  be  no  time.  Run,  child  !  " 

"  Heva  !  "  She  caught  up  her  skirt  and 
raced  along  the  ridge,  and  down  past  Joel's 
cottage.  "  Heva  >  Heva  !  " 

John  Rosemundy  was  sitting  on  his  door- 
step, with  little  Jenifer  on  his  knee.  Hear- 
ing la's  shout,  he  rose,  set  the  child  down  on 
the  threshold,  and  took  a  dozen  steps  down 
the  hill ;  but  turned  and  came  back  heavily, 
like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

"God  forgive  me,"  he  said,  and  took 
Jenifer  on  his  knee  again.  la  heard  the 
breath  rattle  in  the  little  one's  throat. 

' '  When  was  she  took  like  this  ?  ' ' 

' '  Las'  night :  maybe  two  hour'  after  you 
left.  The  Doctor's  been  twice.  Leave  her 
to  me,  an'  go  cry  the  news." 

Joel  Spargo  came  running  down  the  street. 
"Doctor's  coming  this  minute,"  he  said; 
then  nodding  towards  Rosemundy,  "  He's 
lairy  wi'  hunger;  not  fit  to  lift  an  oar.  Be 
it  true,  sure  'miff?  Can  'ee  come  wi'  us,  la? 
They  be  wantin'  you  sore." 


122  I    A 

So  the  price  was  not  all  paid,  even  yet. 

"I'll  come."  She  kissed  the  child's  hot 
face,  and  went. 

"  Heva  !  heva  !  the  fish  is  come  !  " 

At  the  first  blast  of  Lot's  cowhorn  the 
town  pricked  up  its  ears.  Men  and  women 
ran  out  of  doors  and  down  to  the  quay. 

"Is  it  fish?" 

"  Lanes  o'  fish — balks  of  'm." 

"  Praise  God,  the  fish  at  last !  " 

"Where  be'm  to?  Tell  me,  that's  a 
dear." 

"Just  round  the  Island.  See  the  Huer, 
up  there,  'pon  the  point." 

"There  he  goes  for  'Weigh  anchor' — 
arms  across  an'  hold  up  the  bushes — Who've 
got  the  first  stem  ?  "  * 

"  Eli  Tregenza." 

"  'A's  sick  an  a-bed.  Carbines'  two 
come  out  next.  But  who's  to  work  mun 
all  ?  An'  not  two  hour  to  dark  !  " 

Indeed  this  was  no  time  for  disputing 
over  stations.  The  whole  town  wanted  fish 
to  eat,  not  to  sell.  All  the  boats  were  short- 
handed.  Some  had  no  crews  left :  some 
had  no  masters :  some  had  no  owners,  and 
lay  high  on  the  beach  with  seams  gaping, 
*  Station. 


A  LOVE  STORY  123 

after  weeks  of  sunshine.  A  few  of  these 
were  hauled  a  little  way  down  and  then 
abandoned,  for  the  men  were  weak  as  rats. 
The  knees  of  all  shook  :  more  than  one 
man  laid  his  hands  upon  a  gunwale,  gave  a 
feeble  push  in  place  of  a  lift,  and  fell.  The 
work  was  left  to  the  boats  that  lay  ready 
launched. 

la  and  Joel  took  command  of  Elder  Car- 
bines' No.  i  scan,  of  which  John  Rose- 
mundy  was  properly  master.  Three  boats 
belonged  to  it ;  each  flat  and  carvel-built. 
Joel  leaped  into  the  largest — called  the  stan- 
dout, for  it  held  the  great  net,  220  fathoms 
long  and  12  fathoms  deep,  buoyed  with 
corks  along  the  head-rope  and  weighted 
with  lead  at  the  foot.  The  boat  measured 
40  feet  in  length  by  10  in  the  beam,  and 
should  have  carried  a  crew  of  seven,  four 
to  row  and  three  to  shoot  the  scan. 

The  second  boat,  theyW7)w,*  carried  the 
thwart  net  and  waited  on  the  sean-boat. 

la  took  her  station  in  a  third,  a  much 
smaller  boat,  the  htrker ;  and  pulled  ahead 
of  the  others  to  discover  what  she  could  of 
the  size  of  the  school  f  and  the  direction  it 
was  taking. 

*  Follower.  f  Shoal  of  fish. 


124  I  A 

The  pilchards  came  abreast  of  the  Island, 
leaping  and  stoiting.  A  dozen  stupid  fel- 
lows had  taken  Tregenza's  boats — which  had 
first  position — and  were  making  a  mess  of  it. 
Worse  than  this,  they  were  making  a  noise 
and  alarming  the  fish.  The  white  bushes  on 
the  cliff  waved  to  la  that  the  school  had 
changed  its  course  and  was  heading  off  from 
shore.  She  signalled  to  Joel,  and  the  great 
sean-boat  came  along  with  a  rush,  the  follyer 
close  astern.  la  pulled  ahead  for  a  couple 
of  minutes,  and  signalled  again.  Passing  a 
warp  of  the  big  scan  to  the  follyer,  and  sign- 
ing to  hold  taut,  Joel  gave  the  word  to 
shoot.  The  four  rowers  in  his  boat  bent  to 
their  oars ;  he  and  the  other  man  in  the 
stern  cast  the  great  net  overboard,  hand 
over  hand,  each  hand  moving  like  lightning. 
Round  the  school  the  boat  flew,  the  head- 
line bellying  out  astern — at  first  in  a  wide 
curve,  then,  as  they  rounded,  in  a  long  loop 
with  a  narrowing  entrance — the  sean-boat  at 
one  end  of  the  loop,  the  follyer  still  holding 
taut  on  the  other.  So  mightily  had  Joel 
worked  that  the  whole  mass  of  net,  cork, 
rope,  and  lead  was  cast  within  five  minutes. 

Then,  as  these  two  larger  boats  brought 
their  two  warps  together,  la  brought  her 


A  LOVE  STORY  125 

small  lurker  opposite  the  entrance,  and, 
splashing  with  her  paddle,  drove  the  pilch- 
ards back  from  the  one  opening  by  which 
they  might  escape. 

The  warps  came  together.  la  looked  at 
Joel,  and  saw  that  he  was  white  in  the  face 
and  panting  hard.  "Leave  the  thwart -net 
to  me  !  ' '  she  called  ;  and  clambering  from 
her  own  boat  into  the  follyer — the  crew  of 
which  were  weak  and  not  to  be  trusted — 
with  her  own  hands  she  dropped  the  thwart- 
net  across  the  opening.  All  escape  from  the 
scan  was  now  closed,  and  they  had  only  to 
raise  it  cautiously,  lace  the  ends  together, 
and  guess  the  size  of  their  haul. 

Elsewhere  matters  were  not  going  well. 
The  incapables  in  Tregenza's  boats  had 
scared  the  fish  and  headed  them  off  to  sea. 
la  and  Joel  had  run  into  the  nick  of  oppor- 
tunity. The  two  next  seans  enclosed  little  ; 
and  one  of  these  fouled  its  footrope  across  a 
fourth,  and  let  out  all  it  contained.  Bushes 
waved  frantically  for  a  while ;  cowhorns 
blared ;  boats  spun  to  and  fro  across  the 
bay.  Then  on  a  sudden  all  this  activity 
ceased,  and  the  people  stared  ruefully  after 
the  retreating  school,  now  steering  north- 
ward for  the  Irish  coast. 


126  I  A 

Still,  thanks  to  Joel  and  la,  there  was 
broiling  of  pilchards  that  night  in  every 
street  of  Ardevora ;  and  the  children  went 
about  singing — 

As  I  was  a-going,  a-going,  a-going  on  Green  Down 

I  heard, I  heard,  I  heard 
The  feet,  the  feet,  the  feet  of  fishes  walking.    .    .    . 


XIV 

THE  great  net  was  drawn  carefully  towards 
shore  and  into  shallow  water ;  and  then  the 
"  tucking  "  began.  The  men  took  a  third 
net,  less  than  half  the  length  of  the  scan, 
and  having  a  hollow  or  bunt  in  the  middle  ; 
and  passing  it  within  the  enclosure,  laid  it 
round  the  inner  side  of  the  big  net.  They 
then  drew  this  tuck-net  together,  contract- 
ing the  pilchards  and  lifting  them  gradually 
from  the  bottom.  The  fish  began  to  leap 
wildly.  The  whole  enclosure  became  one 
sheet  of  silver,  glancing  and  flashing  in  the 
twilight.  The  boats  drew  round,  the  men 
leaning  in  pairs  over  the  gunwales,  each  pair 
with  a  flasket  ready  to  dip  out  the  pilchards 
as  they  were  raised  to  the  surface  in  the 
bunk  of  the  tuck-net.  Two  or  three  men 
stood  by  the  opening  of  the  tuck-net,  with 
minnies,*  which  they  kept  plunging  into 
the  water  to  frighten  back  any  that  tried 
to  escape  out  of  the  tuck  into  the  big  scan. 
*  Heavy  stones  fastened  to  ropes. 


128  I  A 

The  voices  of  the  workers  were  lost  in  the 
noise  of  the  fish  as  they  beat  on  the  surface 
of  the  water.  On  the  edge  of  the  shore 
the  spectators  leaped  and  laughed  and  cried 
together.  People  on  the  cliff-side  farms 
across  the  bay  heard  the  shouting  and  hub- 
bub, and  brought  out  their  glasses.  "The 
fish  has  come  :  us  may  sleep  sound  at  last. ' ' 

la  took  no  part  in  this  tucking.  She 
stood  with  hair  loose  and  clothes  dripping 
brine,  and  stared  northward  over  the  sea  in 
the  direction  taken  by  the  retreating  school. 

"Joel,  why  don't  the  drift-boats  put 
out?" 

"Scarce  a  boat  has  put  out  this  fortni't. 
The  men  be  too  weak  to  pull,  an'  the  wind's 
too  slight  for  sailin'." 

"  But  the  fish — there's  millions  yet !  " 

"  Iss  ;  but  who  can  overtake  'em  ?  " 

"They'll  turn  east  agen — I  know  they 
will." 

"An"  'tis  full  moon,  too.  Naw,  'tisn' 
any  use. ' ' 

"  Come  along  shore  an'  help  me  persuade 
the  men.  There's  fish,  an'  I  can  get  'm." 

"  'Tisn'  any  use,  I  tell  'ee  !  "  But  she 
caught  his  arm  and  began  to  run.  "  Ha' 
faith — ha'  faith!"  she  panted.  "  You'm 


A  LOVE  STORY  129 

daft,"  he  muttered:  but  he  ran  neverthe- 
less. 

By-and-by  he  caught  some  share  of  her 
exaltation :  and  found  himself,  much  to  his 
surprise,  doing  his  very  best  to  persuade  the 
men. 

At  first  they  jeered.  They  had  much 
rather  stay  and  watch  the  tucking.  Sun- 
down was  past :  the  sea  was  like  a  pond : 
the  full  moon  would  be  up  in  an  hour :  the 
pilchards  would  be  half-way  to  Ireland  by 
the  time  they  put  out :  and  so  on,  and  so 
on. 

Most  of  what  they  had  urged  was  true  and 
reasonable.  But  la  persisted.  "Tell  me 
who  brought  'em  word  o'  the  fish  ?  Who 
spied  'em  first?  Who  took  'em  while  you 
was  blunderin'  ?  Aw,  people,  people — trust 
me  this  wance  more  an'  you  shall  ha'  mill- 
ions !  " 

The  end  was  that  five  boats  put  forth  from 
the  outer  harbour — the  inner  being  almost 
dry  by  this  time.  Joel's  boat  led,  with  la 
steering.  It  was  the  hour  after  sundown 
when  all  grows  flat  and  misty  to  the  eye,  and 
a  mile  of  water  looks  the  same  as  two.  They 
hoisted  the  brown  lug-sails  and  stole  out  on 
the  tide,  the  faintest  breath  of  wind  helping. 
9 


130  I  A 

A  few  people  on  the  cliff  shouted  after  them, 
pointing  north.  But  la  disregarded  them. 
She  laid  the  boat's  nose  E.N.E.  and  steered 
a  steady  course :  and  the  others  followed. 

By  degrees  the  coast  became  a  shadow,  the 
hubbub  of  the  tuckers  dropped  into  a  con- 
fused murmur,  the  white  houses  faded.  The 
moon  pushed  over  the  south-eastern  Towans 
and  swam  up,  white  and  round,  into  a  serene 
sky  :  but  a  faint  halo  dulled  its  edge.  "  The 
rain  is  coming,"  said  la.  The  light  on 
Gulland  Point,  too,  shone  whiter  than  it  had 
shone  for  months.  She  ordered  the  sweeps  to 
be  got  out.  There  were  three  men  aboard 
besides  Joel :  and  the  four  took  turns  at  pull- 
ing, pair  and  pair  about.  The  other  boats 
dropped  behind  into  the  shadow.  They  had 
brought  no  lights,  oil  being  too  scarce  in  the 
town. 

Joel's  boat  measured  thirty  feet  in  the 
keel  and  carried  twenty  nets,  each  net  twenty 
fathoms  in  length  and  seven  fathoms  deep. 
The  three  men  began  to  curse  as  they  pulled. 
Joel  struck  one  across  the  ear  and  ordered 
him  to  be  quiet.  Then  another  began  to 
whistle  out  of  recklessness — for  to  whistle  at 
the  fishing  is  to  invite  ill  luck — and  stopped 
for  sheer  faintncss.  Joel  had  lifted  his,  hand 


A  LOVE  STORY  131 

again.  '•'  Let  'n  be,"  said  la;  "  God  '11  take 
no  count  o'  his  defiance." 

She  took  the  sweep  from  the  man  and 
gave  him  the  tiller.  On  the  dark  side  of  the 
boat  her  blade  stirred  up  a  pool  of  gold  and 
blue  briming  *  at  every  stroke.  So  the  boat 
held  on  E.N.E.  for  close  on  four  weary 
leagues.  la  looked  astern  for  the  other 
boats,  but  their  crews  had  lost  heart  and  put 
back. 

The  tide  had  turned  and  was  beginning  to 
set  strongly  up  channel.  la  felt  it,  and  drew 
in  the  sweep.  She  stood  up  and  scanned  the 
black  water.  Then,  without  giving  a  word 
of  reason,  she  ordered  Joel  to  down  sail  and 
shoot  the  nets.  He  felt  sure  by  this  time 
that  she  must  be  daft  :  for,  as  every  child  in 
Ardevora  could  tell,  drift-nets  should  only 
be  shot  at  sundown  or  just  before  dawn, 
when  the  pilchards  are  most  active  and  enter 
the  nets  best.  But  he  humoured  her,  and 
the  others  obeyed.  A  thick  mist  had  gath- 
ered round  the  moon  by  this  time;  and  as 
the  nets  were  heaved  over  and  spread,  the 
briming  outlined  every  mesh  in  fire,  and  the 
head-line  ran  out  in  a  row  of  dotted  sparks. 

The  three  men  swore  at  her  again  and 
*  Phosphorescence. 


132  I  A 

fl'.mg  themselves  down  to  sleep  under  the 
thwarts.  Joel,  after  slaking  his  thirst  from 
the  water-breaker,  sat  himself  down  to  rest, 
with  his  back  against  the  cuddy.  But  la 
went  forward  to  the  bows,  where  the  rope 
was  fastened,  and  waited. 

The  moon  climbed  over  the  mast.  The 
mist  spread  and  hung  over  the  heaving  water 
like  a  coverlet  on  a  sleeper's  breast.  In  that 
hour  la  read,  or  thought  she  read,  the  secret 
of  her  people's  obscure  toil,  the  might  and 
permanence  of  it,  the  purpose  it  fulfilled,  and 
her  own  share  in  it.  "  O  people,  my  people, 
wicked  was  I  to  dream  of  leavin'  'ee  !  Cast 
tip  my  shame  to  me,  but  never  cast  me 
out!  " 

She  drew  the  ring  from  her  pocket  and 
slipped  it  on  the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand. 
Then  she  pulled  on  the  rope  gently,  until  the 
boat's  nose  touched  the  net.  Leaning  over, 
she  thrust  the  finger  through  one  of  the 
gleaming  meshes.  The  ring  slid  down  and 
through  the  mesh  and  into  the  sea.  A  few 
golden  bubbles  shot  up  and  were  extin- 
guished. The  cord  around  her  finger  was 
now  her  only  marriage-ring,  and  with  it  she 
took  the  sea  to  be  her  husband. 

But   gudd&ily  she   dropped  the  net  and 


A  LOVE  STORY  133 

drew  back,  upright  upon  her  knees,  clasping 
her  hands  together  below  her  bosom.  Some- 
thing fluttered  beneath  them,  soft  as  a  bird's 
wing.  Her  lips  parted. 

"  The  rain  is  comin'." 

It  was  Joel's  voice,  and  he  stood  at  her 
shoulder. 

She  turned  and  looked  straight  above  her, 
following  his  eyes.  A  tongue  of  pale  blue 
flame  shivered  on  the  truck  of  the  mast,  ran 
down  a  foot  or  so,  and  died  out.  It  was 
a  composant. 

"  Jenifer  is  dead,"  she  said  quietly ;  "let 
us  haul  the  net." 

She  unfastened  the  rope  and  passed  it  to 
Joel,  who  carried  it  to  the  boat's  quarter. 
As  they  began  to  haul,  the  first  drops  of 
rain  fell. 


XV 

AT  daybreak  the  early  watchers  on  the 
cliff  spied  them,  through  sheets  of  rain. 
They  had  hoisted  a  small  flag  in  the  rigging, 
and  two  boats  put  out  to  help ;  for  they 
were  too  weak  to  lift  the  net,  let  alone  to 
shake  the  fish  on  board. 

As  the  leading  boat  drew  near,  la  saw 
that  her  father  stood  in  the  bows,  and  tried 
to  hail  him.  Her  voice  died  in  her  throat. 
But  Joel,  who  held  a  glass  to  his  eye,  set  it 
down,  and  sang  out — 

"  Ahoy,  John  Rosemundy  !  " 

"Ahoy,  there  !  "  His  voice  came  cheer- 
fully over  the  hissing  water,  and  la  lifted  her 
head. 

"  How's  the  little  maid  ?  " 

"  Better,  thank  the  Lord  !  Doctor's  just 
left,  an'  Missus  Nance  is  a-tendin'  her." 

Then  la  leaned  her  forehead  on  the  gun- 
wale and  sobbed  :  until  Joel  took  her  by 
the  shoulder  and  led  her  forward  to  the 
cuddy. 


A  LOVE  STORY  135 

"Lie  there  an'  sleep,"  he  commanded, 
pointing  to  a  heap  of  tarpaulins. 

She  lay  down  as  obediently  as  a  child. 
For  forty-eight  hours  she  had  not  closed  an 
eye. 

When  she  awoke  and  looked  through  the 
cuddy-door,  the  boat  was  heaped  high  with 
pilchards.  Joel  stood  at  the  tiller,  his 
guernsey  coated  with  fish-scales  and  twin- 
kling through  the  rain  like  a  suit  of  armour. 
He  nodded  and  smiled. 

"There's  a  whole  pack  o'  folks  waitin' 
for  *ee." 

She  stepped  out,  and  looked  around. 
They  were  rounding  the  quay  under  short 
sail,  and  the  quay  was  lined  with  people. 
These  put  up  a  cheer  as  Joel  jammed  the 
helm  down,  and  the  boat  ran  up  in  the  wind 
and  fell  alongside. 

In  a  single  haul  they  had  taken  40,000 
pilchards;  and,  the  fish  being  in  very  good 
condition,  this  meant  about  sixteen  hogs- 
heads, and  from  eight  to  nine  gallons  of  oil 
per  hogshead.  The  scan,  of  course,  had 
taken  enormously  more  —  probably  700 
hogsheads,  or  a  million  and  three-quarters 
of  fish.  To  be  sure,  none  of  these  could  be 
exported  from  the  infected  town  ;  and  later, 


136  I   A 

as  the  rain  came  down,  flushed  drains  and 
gutters,  and  washed  their  offscourings  along 
the  beach  and  around  the  scan  and  the  fish 
that  still  waited  to  be  tucked,  it  was  wisely 
determined  to  destroy  them.  The  farmers 
bought  them,  mixed  them  with  sand,  and 
carted  them  up  the  hills  for  manure. 

But  the  famine  was  stayed  before  this. 

As  la  passed  through  the  crowd  on  the 
quay,  a  small  child  caught  her  by  the 
skirt. 

"If  you  please,  la  Rosemundy,  you'm 
wanted  up  to  Missis  Tregay's.  The  Doctor 
sent  me  down  to  say  you  was  to  come  so 
soon  as  iver  you  landed." 

Wondering  a  little,  she  followed  the  child 
to  a  cottage  half-way  up  the  Chypons.  Dr. 
Hammer  met  her  in  the  doorway. 

"  There's  a  baby  born  here,"  he  said  to 
her,  as  he  led  the  way  into  a  darkened  room 
to  the  left  of  the  passage.  She  entered, 
and  an  old  woman  advanced  to  meet  her, 
holding  a  bundle.  It  was  Aunt  Mary  Johns, 
the  midwife. 

' '  The  mother  says  it  must  be  held  in  a 
maid's  arms  before  'tis  dressed — for  luck. 
If  she  wasn't  so  weak,  I'd  have  called  her  a 
fool.  As  it  is,  I  told  her  she  ought  to 


A  LOVE  STORY  137 

choose  the  best  maid  in  the  town  ;  and  I 
sent  for  you." 

la  stretched  out  her  arms  for  the  child, 
but  withdrew  them  sharply,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  With  a  low  cry,  she 
turned  and  ran  out  of  the  house  and  up  the 
hill. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Dr.  Hammer  en- 
tered the  Rosemundy's  cottage,  and  found 
la  there  alone  beside  her  sister's  bed.  The 
child  was  asleep.  Mrs.  Nance  had  given 
up  her  charge,  received  la's  thanks,  and 
gone  home  to  breakfast.  John  Rosemundy 
was  down  on  the  quay,  landing  and  weigh- 
ing the  pilchards. 

The  Doctor  halted  in  the  doorway.  la 
had  risen,  and  stood  with  her  face  to  the 
wall. 

"  My  girl " 

She  felt  his  sharp  grey  eyes  upon  her. 
They  pierced  like  gimlets.  But  she  neither 
answered  nor  turned. 

"My  girl,  I  believe  I  have  done  you  a 
great  wrong." 

She  faced  him  now,  her  arms  hanging 
limp  before  her,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her 
eyes  interrogating  him. 


138  I  A 

"  I  sent  him  away,"  he  said. 

"No,  Doctor." 

"  Child,  I  am  an  idiot  past  forgiving.  I 
sent  him  away." 

"  No,  Doctor,  /sent  him  away." 

"  You  heard  what  I  said  to  Carbines  that 
day?" 

"I  did." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,  I  meant  you  to  hear 
it." 

"I  know.  But  'twas  true;  wasn't  it, 
Doctor  ? ' ' 

"God  knows,  my  dear,"  the  Doctor 
groaned. 

"Oh,  yes;  'twas  true.  'Twould  ha' 
spoilt  his  life.  I  made  him  see  that." 

Dr.  Hammer  stepped  forward,  laid  a  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

' '  You  —  made  him — see  —  that  ?  "  he 
echoed. 

"  He — he  didiv  know " 

The  sentence  came  to  a  halt,  and  she 
looked  at  him  piteously. 

"  And  you  never — told  him  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  He  made  for  the 
door,  but  she  caught  at  his  arm. 

"You  mustn'  tell  him,  Doctor:  you 
mustn'  tell  nobody.  He  wanted  to  marry 


A  LOVE  STORY  139 

me — gave  me  his  word  over  Xoon  Water. 
'Twos  I  that  said  '  No.'  You  judge  'n 
wrong.  When  a  body  thinks  o'  religion 
afore  anything " 

" —  'tis  the  others  that  suffer.  You 
needn't  tell  me  that,  la." 

They  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  looked 
down  together  upon  the  bay.  The  washings 
of  the  town  had  turned  the  water  inshore  to 
a  turbid  yellow  ;  and  as  the  rain  fell  and  fell, 
this  yellow  water  spread  into  a  long  arc  and 
pushed  slowly  out  towards  the  blue-green 
Atlantic. 


XVI 

THE  great  army  of  fish  held  on  its  way, 
and  was  lost  in  the  north -east.  A  few  unim- 
portant hauls  were  made  by  the  drift-boats 
among  the  stragglers,  and  so  the  summer 
fishery  ended.  Some  of  the  Ardevora  boats 
hoisted  sail  for  the  herrings  on  the  east 
coast ;  but  most  of  the  men  contented  them- 
selves with  overhauling  for  the  autumn  mack- 
erel fishery,  which  turned  out  better  than 
anyone  expected,  and  decidedly  above  the 
average. 

Meanwhile  the  typhus  steadily  diminished. 
The  breaking  up  of  the  weather  seemed  to 
put  a  period  to  its  rage.  Fresh  south- 
westerly breezes  blew  through  the  rest  of 
August  and  the  whole  of  September,  with 
a  plenty  of  rain.  The  bill  of  mortality 
dropped  week  by  week,  thus — 14,  8,  3,  2,  o. 
The  last  death  occurred  on  September  23rd, 
and  when,  a  fortnight  later,  the  equinoctial 
winds  had  blown  themselves  out,  it  was 


A  LOVE  STORY  141 

found  that  the  pestilence  had  gone  with 
them. 

Early  in  October  the  pilchards  began  to 
collect  again  and  draw  southward  out  of  the 
cold  seas  towards  the  Atlantic.  And  in  the 
third  week  of  that  month  the  returning 
legions  swept  back  along  the  shore  by  Arde- 
vora,  so  compactly  moving  that  thousands 
were  pushed  ashore  by  the  pressure  of  the 
rear-guard.  In  three  days  the  fishermen 
took  up  fifteen  millions  of  fish. 

Seven  weeks  later,  a  dozen  women  were 
sifting  pilchards  in  a  store  belonging  to  El- 
der Carbines,  at  the  north  end  of  the  town. 
The  fish  (a  part  of  the  first  day's  catch)  had 
stood  in  balk  ever  since  their  removal  from 
the  tuck-net :  that  is,  after  a  rubbing  of  bay- 
salt  they  had  been  piled  in  layers  against  the 
wall  of  the  store,  with  salt  between  each 
layer,  and  yet  more  salt  in  all  the  interstices. 
In  this  state  they  had  been  allowed  to  re- 
main for  a  month,  the  oil  and  brine  draining 
out  of  them  into  pits  dug  for  the  purpose. 

The  women  were  now  employed  in  sifting 
and  packing.  Some  rubbed  the  dry  salt  off 
the  fish.  Others  washed  them  in  sieves. 
Then  others  laid  them  regularly  in  great 
fifty-gallon  casks.  The  casks  had  wide 


14-  I  A 

crevices  between  the  staves  :  and,  when  one 
was  heaped  full,  the  women  would  lift  a 
large  granite  pressing-stone  on  to  the  top. 
Under  this  the  fish  sank  lower  in  the  cask, 
and  the  oil  ran  out  through  the  crevices. 
When  a  cask  had  been  pressed  down  and 
refilled,  once  every  day  for  nine  days,  it 
would  weigh  about  476  pounds  ;  and  was 
then  headed  up,  branded  with  Mr.  Carbines' 
name,  the  date,  the  letters  B.F.  (for  "  Brit- 
ish Fish"),  and  the  number  3,000  (the 
supposed  contents  of  a  hogshead) ;  and 
stood  ready  for  exportation. 

The  women  chattered  as  they  worked. 

"  Long  life  to  the  Pope,  an'  death  to 
thousands!"  said  one,  breaking  off  work 
and  producing  a  tea-pot,  from  the  cracked 
spout  of  which  she  took  a  long  pull.  Wip- 
ing her  lips,  she  added,  "  Well,  'tis  a  pretty 
good  season  with  the  nor'  coasters,*  after 
all  we've  a-gone  through." 

"Praise  the  Lord  for  all  His  mercies! 
Soon  as  iver  we  put  these  in  bulk  I  heard 
mun  crying  for  more."  f 

*  The  winter  pilchards. 

•f-  Squeaking.  The  noise  (often  a  loud  one)  is 
made  by  the  bursting  of  the  pilchards'  air-bladders 
under  pressure  of  the  balk. 


A  LOVE  STORY  143 

"Whiddles!" 

"  'Tisn'  whiddles.  You'll  be  tellin'  me 
next  that  'tisn'  a  sign  o'  fish  when  the  press- 
stones  begin  shiftin'  !  Why,  the  very  day 
that  Joel  Spargo  an'  la  Rosemundy  took 
that  big  lot,  back  in  August  month,  I  was 
passing  this  very  door,  thinkin'  o'  nothin'  so 
little  as  fish,  when  I  heard  askimmage  an'  a 
slidin' " 

"Talk  o'  the  devil — there's  Joel  Spargo 
passin'  the  door  this  minute.  Hi  !  Joel, 
lad!" 

"  What  the  clatter?  "  Joel  paused  in  the 
open  doorway  and  looked  in. 

"  Step  in  an'  gi'e  us  a  kiss,  my  dear." 

"  Can't.  Winter's  comin'  on,  an'  the 
days  be  short.  Better  you  clacked  less  an' 
worked  more." 

"Joel's  very  partikler  in  sharin'  his 
kisses,"  said  a  girl.  "Here,  Prudence 
Oliver,  help  me  lift  this  here  stone,  since  he 
don't  offer." 

"  I  can't,  my  dear  :  feared  o'  strainin' 
myself." 

"  I  reckon  your  husband  won't  let  'ee." 

"Well,  'tis  summat  to  have  a  man  that's 
not  ashamed  to  own  childer." 

"What's  all  this  about?"    Joel  asked, 


144  I  A 

for  she  threw  a  meaning  look  at  the  women 
as  she  spoke. 

' '  Better  ask  la  Rosemundy. ' ' 

A  chorus  of  laughter  followed  him  as  he 
turned  on  his  heel.  He  did  not  understand. 
But  the  women  had  long  been  accustomed 
to  rally  him  on  his  devotion  to  la — a  devo- 
tion apparent  enough  to  everyone  in  the 
town.  And  he  always  took  to  his  heels  as 
soon  as  her  name  was  uttered. 

But  it  happened  two  evenings  later  that  he 
overtook  la  at  the  foot  of  Down-along  on 
his  way  home  from  the  fishing.  The  two 
had  been  out  all  day  with  the  hook-and-line, 
but  on  different  sides  of  the  bay.  Joel  had 
taken  two  fine  cod  on  the  long-line,  besides 
ling  and  smaller  fish,  and  must  describe  their 
weight,  condition,  and  the  rest.  He  always 
talked  to  la  as  to  a  man  comrade. 

"  Wait  for  me  a  moment,"  she  said, 
"  while  I  run  in  and  ask  after  Bathsheba 
Toms." 

The  child  had  suffered  from  deafness  for 
some  time  after  her  recovery,  but  this  was 
passing  off. 

Joel  waited  for  a  couple  of  minutes  by 
the  door.  Then  he  heard  the  Widow  Toms' 
voice  inside  : 


A  LOVE  STORY  145 

"I'll  not  deny,"  she  was  saying,  "you 
was  very  good  to  Bathsheba,  an'  I  don't 
forget  it.  Iss,  an'  the  poor  child's  took  a 
great  fancy  for  'ee.  But,  all  the  same,  I 
wish  you  wouldn'  come.  Bein'  a  respectable 
woman  mysel',  that  has  always  brought  up 
my  childer  to  be  partickler,  till  it  pleased 
God  to  take  mun ' ' 

"  Oh,  hush,  Widow,  hush  !  Joel  Spargo's 
outside.  I  won't  come  again  if  you  don't 
wish  it." 

But  the  Widow  came  towards  the  door, 
lifting  her  voice  yet  higher : 

"  An'  if  'tis  he,  the  sooner  he  hears  the 
better.  For  there's  a  lot  o'  good  in  'ee,  la 
Rosemundy,  an'  you'd  make  en  a  good  wife, 
and  he's  no  call  to  put  this  disgrace  on  you  ; 
an'  so  I'd  tell  'n  to  his  face." 

"  Widow,  Widow — 'tisn'  Joel."  la  en- 
treated her  breathlessly. 

Joel  stalked  into  the  room  and  took  her 
by  the  wrist.  "  Come  away,  girl,"  he 
commanded  :  and  she  found  herself  in  the 
street. 

They  walked  up  the  street  side  by  side  in 
silence  :  .and  up  the  hill  to  her  father's  door, 
but  Joel  did  not  pause  there.  He  went 
past  his  own  door,  too :  and  she  followed 

10 


146  I  A 

him,  still  in  silence.  It  must  come — the 
sooner  now,  the  better.  They  walked  out 
along  the  ridge  to  the  ruin  on  the  headland, 
and  here,  almost  on  the  spot  where  she  had 
dismissed  Paul,  Joel  faced  about  on  her. 

"  la — is  it  true?  " 

She  dropped  her  arms  helplessly  before 
her:  but  lifted  her  head  in  a  moment,  and 
looked  straight  at  him. 

"  Iss,  'tis  true." 

He  turned  his  face  away  towards  the  sea. 

"  When— when  '11  it  be?" 

"About  the  end  o'  February,  I  reckon." 

He  faced  her.  "  Was  it  that  Preacher  fel- 
low?" 

"No."  But  the  lie  failed  on  her  lips. 
"Joel,  you  won't  tell  ..." 

(How  did  he  know  ?  He  had  never  even 
seen  them  together  :  and  was  a  slow-vitted 
man,  too.) 

"  'Tisn'  too  late.  You'll  let  me  go  to  "n." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Joel.  I  sent 'n  goin'  .  .  . 
he  doesn'  know.  .  .  .  Not  if  you  was  to 
bring  en  an'  he  was  go  'pon  his  knees  here, 
would  I  marry  en." 

"  Is  that  truth?" 

"  It  is  truth,  as  I  stand  here." 

"An'  will  be  alwavs?  " 


A  LOVE  STORY  147 

"An1  will  be  always." 

"You  know  what  they'll  call  'ee?  You 
heard  what  that  woman  said  ?  ' ' 

' '  About — about  you  ?  ' '  Her  face  was 
red  as  fire.  "  Joel,  Joel — here  I  be  with  all 
my  shame  before  'ee — but  I  never  thought — 
Joel " 

"  Hush  'ee  now  !  "  He  paused  and  took 
her  hand.  "  What  odds  about  me  ?  An' — 
what  was  I  goin'  to  say? — you'll  hear  me 
for  a  minute — seems  like  takin'  advantage, 
but  'tisn'  that.  Year  upon  year  I've  loved 
'ee,  an'  for  months  now  I've  knawed  'twas 
no  good " 

"What  use " 

"  Aw  now,  hear  me  out !  I  knaw  'tis  no 
use  :  but  that  don't  make  no  differ.  When 
you  told  me  jus'  now,  I  thought — but  it 
don't  seem  to  make  no  differ  at  all.  If  you 
was  near  hell  itself,  I  must  go  on  thinkin'  all 
the  world  of  'ee.  Aw,  la — la,  girl — I  ask  no 
more  of  'ee — let  me  gi'e  the  cheeld  my 
name.  ..." 

So,  it  had  happened  !  Here,  where  four 
month  ago  she  had  watched  her  lover's  face, 
if  haply  against  her  prayers  God  might  send 
a  miracle;  here  the  miracle  had  befallen, 
from  the  lips  of  another  man.  Here  was 


148  I  A 

love  to  match  her  love — and  she  could  not 
take  it ! 

"  Stop,  Joel.  Do  'ee  really  think  so  bad 
of  me  as  that  ?  ' ' 

"  I  think  all  the  world  of  'ee." 
"  Do  'ee  think  I  be  a  woman  that  would 
do  this  thing?"     She  saw  the  puzzlement 
creep  over  Joel's  face,  and  laid  a  hand  on 
his  arm. 

He  stammered,  ''  I  meant  no  ill." 
"  I  believe  you  never  meant  ill  in  your 
life.  Ah,  Joel — ah,  friend,  with  all  my 
heart  I  thank  'ee  !  You  an'  me' 11  never 
have  all  we  want  in  life :  but  I  shall  come  to 
'ee  sometimes  for  help,  because  you  was 
born  to  help  and  think  good  thoughts." 

She  tapped  his  arm  gently,  and  sped  away. 
Then  the  twilight  received  and  hid  her. 

Next  day,  Mrs.  Nance  called  at  the  Rose- 
mundy's  cottage,  with  a  sweet  cake  for 
Jenifer. 

"  But  that's  not  my  only  reason  for  corn- 
in',"  she  told  la;  "  though  I  take  an  in- 
terest in  the  child.  I  see  your  probation 
ran  out  last  Lady  Day,  an'  you've  been  free 
to  present  yoursel'  for  admission  to  the 
Elect,  any  time  since  then." 


A  LOVE  STORY  149 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  present  mysel'." 

"Well,  now,  I'm  glad  o'  that.  You  see, 
the  others  would  likely  ha'  left  it  to  me  to 
decide  about  your  admission,  bein'  the  only 
female  Elder  :  an'  the  scandal — I  couldn' 
very  well — not  that  I  wish  'ee  harm,  you 
understand,  but  there's  young  maidens  i' 
the  congregation,  an'  the  example " 

"  I'  ve  thought  o'  that.  But  I  may  come  an' 
listen,  Sundays  ?  You  won't  refuse  me  that?  ' ' 

"  Dear,  no  !  The  Lord  forbid  we 
should  deny  'ee  the  means  o'  grace  in  your 
terrible  position.  Who  knows  but  some 
day  you  may  repent  an'  be  at  heart  like  any 
decent  woman  ?  " 

%  3f  ^  :£  ^t 

Shortly  after  Christmas  the  Doctor 
brought  la  a  message  from  Revyer,  from 
Mrs.  Baragwanath. 

"  The  old  woman  sends  her  love  and  re- 
spects— those  were  her  words — and  if  you 
will  go  over  and  lodge  with  her  till  the 
child  is  born,  she  will  do  her  best  to  make 
you  comfortable." 

la  shook  her  head.  "  But  thank  her  for 
thinkin'  o'  me  ;  an'  tell  her  she  advised  me 
right,  though  she  didn'  think  o'  me  at  the 
time,  or  very  little." 


150  I  A 

"  Well,  shall  I  send  up  to  Truro  and  get 
you  a  lodging  there,  and  a  good  nurse  ?  ' ' 

"  Thank  you,  Doctor,  but  I'll  stay  home 
here  in  Ardevora.  When  I  told  father,  I 
said  to  mysel',  'If  he  beats  me,  I'll  go 
a\vay.'  But  he  didn',  though  he  lifted  his 
hand  :  an'  he's  spoke  kind  enough  about  it 
since,  an'  I'm  to  stay." 

*}*  *f*  <*  *T*  *r» 

So  in  her  father's  cottage,  on  Valentine's 
Day,  1 86 1,  la's  child  was  born — a  healthy, 
blue-eyed  boy.  A  week  later  he  was  bap- 
tised, and  given  the  name  of  John.  Only 
four  people  in  the  world  knew  what  his  sur- 
name should  have  been. 


xvi  r 

FOR  the  next  four  years  la  lived  on  in  her 
father's  cottage,  and  worked  at  the  fishing 
as  before.  Few  folks  had  ever  made  friends 
with  her.  In  the  former  times  she  and 
her  father  had  been  eyed  askance  as  people 
"from  behind  the  hills."  During  those 
weeks  of  pestilence  she  had  fairly  earned 
the  love  and  gratitude  of  many.  But  the 
debt  was  never  paid.  Her  fault  cancelled 
it.  Women  whose  children  she  had  nursed 
nodded  as  she  passed  their  doors,  but  did 
not  invite  her  to  step  in  and  causey.*  Her 
heart  turned  back  and  accepted  its  old  iso- 
lation. 

She  was  not  unhappy.  She  had  her  boy 
to  love. 

He  grew  a  straight  and  handsome  child, 
with  curly  yellow  hair,  and  blue  eyes  so  like 
his  father's  that  la  trembled  sometimes. 
But  nobody  guessed  her  secret,  though  many 
people  speculated  about  it.  And  not  even 
to  Jenifer  would  she  tell  it. 
*  Chat. 


152  I   A 

One  thing  was  certain,  as  the  public  ad- 
mitted. The  child  was  none  of  Joel's: 
every  feature  of  him  gave  the  lie  to  that 
suspicion.  Besides,  everyone  knew  that  la 
had  only  to  lift  a  finger  and  Joel  would 
marry  her  to-morrow. 

But  it  seemed  the  child  was  enough  for 
her,  without  a  husband.  No  fatal  shell  * 
had  made  its  appearance  in  Johnny's  cra- 
dle: and  therefore  a  fisherman  he  might  be 
without  fear.  At  the  dignified  age  of  six 
weeks  he  made  his  first  appearance  in  that 
line  of  business  j  and  thenceforward  accom- 
panied his  mother  regularly  whenever  the 
weather  allowed — at  first  a  long  inert  bundle 
in  the  stern-sheets  ;  then  a  shorter  and  more 
vivacious  bundle  ;  and  at  length,  lo  !  one  of 
the  sterner  sex,  breeched  in  authority,  giving 
opinions. 

la  "spoilt"  him,  of  course  :  and  as  Johnny 
had  at  least  as  much  spirit  as  most  boys, 
there  were  tussles  at  times.  One  evening, 
for  no  particular  reason,  he  refused  to  say 
his  prayers.  Dr.  Hammer  happened  to  call, 
and  found  la  holding  the  boy's  hands  and 
matters  at  a  deadlock. 

"Let    him    alone,"    he   said.      "  WouUJ 
*  Hear  Dr.  Hammer,  ante,  p.  g2. 


A  LOVE  STORY  153 

you,  of  all  women,  have  him  glib  with  his 
prayers?  " 

She  flushed  hotly.  "  You've  no  right  to 
•say  that  !  Besides,  'tisn'  true." 

The  Doctor  turned  to  Johnny. 

"Johnny,"  he  said,  "I  happen  to  know 
that  your  mother  is  the  best  and  loveliest 
woman  in  the  world." 

' '  Is  she  a  lady  ?  ' '  asked  Johnny,  who 
had  been  dazzled,  six  months  before,  by  the 
wife  of  a  Parliamentary  candidate  for  the 
Western  Division  of  Cornwall ;  and  had 
toddled  round  a  dozen  streets  after  her,  gap- 
ing, while  she  prosecuted  her  canvass. 

"  One  of  these  days  you  will  wake  up  and 
find  her  a  princess.  In  the  meanwhile  it  is 
your  business,  instead  of  giving  her  pain,  to 
protect  her." 

Johnny  had  never  thought  of  his  mother 
in  this  light :  and  the  Doctor's  words  did 
him  good. 

"Cramming  the  poor  child's  head  wi' 
such  gammut !  "  exclaimed  la:  but  she  was 
pleased,  all  the  same. 

And,  indeed,  year  by  year  after  the  boy's 
birth  she  had  grown  goodlier  to  look  on.  and 
was  now,  at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  an  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful  woman.  The  Doctor 


i54  I  A 

thought  so,  at  any -rate.  He  and  Joel  were 
the  only  two  who  knew  her  secret  now  (for 
Mrs.  Baragwanath  began  to  fail  rapidly  after 
her  husband's  death,  and  was  buried  before- 
twelve  months  were  out).  Nothing  delighted 
the  Doctor  more  than  to  call  and  discuss 
plans  with  la.  For  he  had  bought  several 
pieces  of  property  in  the  lower  slums  of  the 
town,  and  was  busy  pulling  down  the  old 
hovels  and  putting  up  decent  and  well- 
drained  cottages  in  their  room.  The  people 
grumbled  :  but  he  enjoyed  opposition.  He 
also  set  to  work  to  bully  the  Town  Council 
into  improving  the  town  estates,  and  became 
for  a  while  the  best-hated  man  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood :  for,  finding  himself  at  first  in  a 
minority  of  one,  he  judged  it  necessary  to  be 
very  offensive  indeed. 

So  three  days  out  of  the  seven  found  him 
in  Ardevora.  And  as  he  made  great  show 
of  valuing  la's  opinion  (though  he  never 
adopted  it  by  any  chance),  there  was  not  a 
new  plan  drawn  up,  nor  a  single  alteration 
made,  but  la  must  come  with  him  and  view 
the  place,  and  criticise.  And  had  you  noted 
his  demeanour  at  such  times,  and  the  air 
with  which  he  gave  her  his  hand  to  cross 
a  plank  or  mount  a  few  steps,  you  would 


A  LOVE  STORY  155 

have  supposed  him  to  be  escorting  a  duchess 
at  the  very  least. 

In  this  way  la  lived  for  four  years  and  a 
little  over  :  and  then  a  great  change  of  fort- 
une befell  her.  For  Dr.  Hammer,  riding 
home  late  one  evening  to  Laregan,  took  a 
violent  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  He  sent 
at  once  for  la,  and  she  went.  But  the  case 
was  hopeless,  and  her  good  friend  told  her 
so,  and  took  leave  of  her  with  fortitude  and 
serenity. 

' '  And  you  must  give  me  a  kiss,  my  dear, 
if  you  please.  I  suppose  I  may  ask  for  one 
now  without  setting  every  foolish  tongue  to 
wag  that  I'm  making  up  to  you?  " 

At  his  request  she  stayed  at  Laregan  and 
made  all  arrangements  for  the  funeral,  and 
superintended  the  burial  feast.  And  when 
it  was  all  over,  and  she  in  the  kitchen  wash- 
ing up  the  dishes,  the  Penzance  lawyer 
walked  in,  and  told  her  that,  save  for  a 
small  annuity  to  Peter  (his  old  stableman 
and  factotum),  and  another  for  the  mainten- 
ance of  Ernest  William,  the  jackass,  Dr. 
Hammer  had  left  her  all  that  belonged  to 
him  in  the  world. 

This  was  entirely  surprising  to  her,  and 
gave  her  almost  as  much  concern  as  pleasure. 


156  I  A 

For  her  own  part,  she  had  been  content  with 
her  lot  in  Ardevora.  But  there  was  Johnny 
to  think  of.  In  thinking  of  Johnny's  future, 
her  great  regret  had  always  been  that  he 
would  never  be  able  to  take  as  good  a  posi- 
tion in  life  as  his  father.  She  thought  of 
this  without  any  resentment.  She  accepted 
her  own  inferiority  as  natural  and  right. 
But  she  did  sigh  sometimes  that  his  son  must 
be  a  common  fisherman.  And  yet  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  accept  help  from  Paul. 
Now  she  could  realise  her  dream.  And  if 
ever  this  great-hearted  woman  appeared  in 
an  unamiable  light  (which  I  do  not  admit), 
it  was  now,  in  her  handling  of  the  Doctor's 
money.  To  be  sure,  she  religiously  carried 
out  his  schemes  for  the  drainage,  ventilation, 
and  general  improvement  of  the  cottage 
property  in  Ardevora :  though  she  grudged 
every  penny  spent.  After  deducting  these 
and  other  expenses,  she  found  -herself  pos- 
sessed of  a  trifle  under  ,£300  a  year.  Out  of 
this  a  small  weekly  sum  went  to  compensate 
her  father  and  Jenifer  for  the  services  she 
withdrew  from  the  household  :  but  she  made 
no  attempt  to  raise  them  above  their  condi- 
tion of  hard  work  and  plain  living,  unless  we 
count  occasional  gifts,  such  as  a  new  net  or  a 


A  LOVE  STORY  157 

Sunday  frock.  She  took  Johnny  off  to  Lare- 
gan,  and  there  lived  with  one  very  little  and 
not  very  well-paid  handmaiden ;  and  prac- 
tised stinginess.  She  was  saving  for  Johnny. 

But  she  dressed  as  became  her  new  station, 
and  she  arrayed  the  child  in  velvet  and 
fine  cambric.  She  debated  much  with  her- 
self on  the  steps  to  be  taken  to  educate  him 
when  the  time  should  come,  and  even  prac- 
tised herself  in  reading,  though  she  hated  it. 
A  newspaper  she  could  tolerate,  however  : 
and  she  subscribed  to  one  at  Plymouth,  and 
also  to  that  ne\v  monthly  periodical,  the 
Cornhill  Magazine.  On  Sundays  she  and 
Johnny  walked  over  to  Revyer,  and  sat 
in  a  pew  apart.  And  by  degrees  tongues 
ceased  to  wag  against  the  mistress  of  Lar- 
egan  ;  and  she  grew  to  be  a  person  almost 
of  importance.  Her  fault  was  not  forgotten  : 
but  people  applied  to  her  confidently  for  a 
reasonable  subscription  towards  any  char- 
itable or  religious  undertaking ;  and  some 
talked  of  inviting  her  to  present  herself  for 
admission  among  the  Elect.  But  somehow 
this  was  never  done. 

In  all  this  while  she  never  heard  from 
Paul.  But  she  heard  a  great  deal  about 
him.  for  the  Saints  watched  every  step  in 


158  I  A 

his  career,  and  often  talked  of  it.  And  by- 
and-by  his  name  began  to  find  its  way  into 
the  newspapers.  The  great  hall  had  been 
built  in  the  district  between  Brixton  and 
Cambervvell,  and  he  had  preached  in  it  for 
two  years  now,  and  was  a  success.  Fashion- 
able people  drove  on  Sundays  down  to  the 
south-east  of  London  to  hear  him.  The 
Saints  in  Ardevora  began  to  talk  of  his  visit- 
ing them  before  long.  The  debt  on  the 
great  building  was  almost  paid.  Still,  two 
or  three  hundred  pounds  remained  to  be 
wiped  off.  Much  might  be  done  by  a 
preaching  tour  in  the  provinces.  la  heard 
all  this,  and  prepared  her  heart. 

One  Sunday  in  early  spring  she  heard  that 
Paul  was  coming  in  a  month's  time.  Johnny 
had  just  passed  his  sixth  birthday.  As  he 
walked  homeward  beside  her,  he  asked  : 

"Mummy,  why  are  you  squeezing  my 
hand  so  tight?" 


XVIII 


Six  years  had  not  strained  that  beautiful 
voice,  nor  dulled  a  single  gesture.  He 
spoke  of  his  first  coming  to  Revyer,  "  little 
home  of  the  faith  ;  "  of  the  early  days  of  his 
ministry  ;  of  the  summer  of  pestilence.  The 
same  light  of  inspiration  shone  in  his  face. 

"He  has  not  aged  a  day,"  thought  la, 
stealing  a  look  up  at  him  from  the  pew 
where  she  sat  with  Johnny  beside  her;  "  and 
I  am  old — old  !  ' ' 

If  cultivation  had  given  his  eloquence  re- 
straint, this  was  not  felt  as  a  fault ;  for,  his 
discourse  being  personal,  simple  words  suited 
it  best.  On  this  ground  the  hearts  of  his 
hearers  went  out  half-way  to  meet  him. 
They  had  lost  husbands,  sisters,  children ; 
and  they  remembered  it  all,  and  wept. 

"But  how  much  does  he  really  feel?" 
she  asked  herself. 

"  I  have  sat  at  your  tables" — the  silver 
voice  spoke  above  her  as  though  it  answered 


160  I  A 

— "  I  have  sat  by  your  sick-beds.  Hands 
that  welcomed  me  in  February  I  have  crossed 
before  August  upon  dead  breasts.  Have  I 
not  borne  these  things  in  mind  during  these 
years?  Have  I  not  prayed,  kneeling  towards 
Revyer  ?  —  little  Revyer  in  the  Towans  — 
place  of  Hannah's  vision,  of  my  o\vn  trial 
and  adoption;  poor,  yet  a  mother-city; 
barren,  yet  raised  a  beacon  of  belief  !  " 

Two  years  ago — one  year  ago — she  might 
have  asked:  "And  what  of  me?"  But 
now  she  said,  "  Alas,  I  love  him  !  But  I 
have  strength  ;  "  and  caught  Johnny  sharply 
by  the  arm.  The  boy  looked  up  at  her. 
She  smiled,  and  brushed  back  a  yellow  curl 
that  had  fallen  across  his  shoulder.  The  old 
terror  clutched  at  her  heart.  Surely  when 
people  sa\v  the  two  together 

But  nobody  guessed. 

The  sermon  ended,  and  the  collecting- 
plate  came  round.  Johnny  put  in  a  sover- 
eign, and  she  a  five-pound  note.  She  could 
not  forego  this  little  slap  of  revenge. 

A  tea-drinking  followed  the  service  ;  for 
this  was  a  week-day  gathering — a  Tuesday, 
to  be  precise.  Paul's  tour  had  come  to  an 
end.  and  he  must  be  back  to  preach  in  Lon- 
don on  the  following  Sunday. 


A  LOVE  STORY  161 

They  had  laid  out  the  tables  under  an 
awning  in  the  boat-builder's  yard — now  dis- 
used and  falling  into  worse  decay.  la  had 
contributed  one  of  the  tables  and  presided 
over  it,  pouring  tea  and  dispensing  saffron 
cake,  heavy  cake,  potato  cake,  and  thunder 
and  lightning.*  She  moved  about,  a  queen 
among  the  women  there,  in  a  gown  of  black 
silk,  rich  yet  severe,  with  a  kerchief  of  lace — 
real  Honiton — drawn  forward  across  her 
shoulders,  and  fastened  at  her  bosom  with  a 
plain  brooch  of  gold.  It  is  probable  that  on 
this  particular  evening  she  touched  the  height 
of  her  beauty.  For  suppressed  excitement 
coloured  her  cheeks  and  lit  her  eyes  ;  and  her 
figure  now  and  always  was  magnificent.  Her 
age,  remember,  was  barely  twenty-five. 

Paul,  as  in  duty  bound,  at  first  took  his 
seat  at  the  Chief  Elder's  table,  where  Bitha 
Carbines  presided.  But  after  a  while  he 
rose  and  threaded  his  way  among  the  tables, 
shaking  hands  here  and  there,  and  pausing 
to  speak  a  word  or  two  with  some  old  ac- 
quaintance. And  by-and-by  he  found  him- 
self beside  la. 

"  May  I  have  a  cup  ?  "    • 

"  That's    right,    Preacher   dear,"  said   a 

*  Bread  and  cream  and  treacle, 
ii 


162  I   A 

connoisseur  who  sat  handy  by  the  head  of 
the  table;  "  Laregan  tea's  the  best  i'  the 
whole  tent." 

la  filled  a  cup  to  the  brim,  and  handed  it 
without  spilling  a  drop.  Their  eyes  did  not 
meet. 

"  Is  this  the  end?  "  she  thought. 

Apparently  it  was,  for  being  hailed  by  an 
old  woman  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  Paul 
went  off  and  drank  his  tea  beside  her.  Nor 
did  he  come  back. 

"  That  was  the  best  that  could  happen," 
la  told  herself  as  she  walked  homeward  to 
Laregan.  Johnny  being  tired,  she  put  him 
to  bed  at  once,  kissed  him,  pulled  down  his 
blind,  told  him  to  be  a  good  boy  and 
love  God,  and  left  him  in  the  twilight  to 
find  his  way  into  dreamland. 

She  went  downstairs  to  the  parlour  and 
took  up  a  book.  There  was  light  enough  to 
read  by  if  she  sat  in  the  window  seat.  So 
she  sat  there  with  a  book,  and  stared  out  of 
window. 

"  It  was  the  best  that  could  happen." 

But  a  dark  figure  came  across  the  home 
field  against  the  sunset,  and  the  garden  gate 
clicked,  and  she  rose  and  met  him  at  the 
door. 


A  LOVE  STORY  163 


la!' 
Paul- 


For  a  while  he  found  nothing  more  to  say. 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ?  " 

In  the  parlour  he  turned  on  her — 

"  I  heard  it  this  afternoon — after  the  ser- 
vice. Carbines  told  me  :  I  never  knew " 

"  You  weren't  meant  to." 

"  I  have  done  wickedly.     Is  it  too  late  ?  ' ' 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' '  she  asked 
simply,  and,  comprehending,  answered  at 
once — "  Oh,  yes  :  far  too  late.  I  have  not 
been  so  unhappy  as  you  think. ' ' 

' '  Then  you  did  not  care  for  me,  after 
all — not  as  you  used  to  tell  me  you  cared  ?  ' ' 
la  recognised  the  old  note  and  smiled,  not 
bitterly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Paul,  I  have  always  cared." 

"  But,  la — I  love  you  here  and  now.  I 
have  never  loved  another  woman.  There 
are  no  obstacles  now " 

"  No  obstacles  now  ?  "  she  echoed. 

"  None." 

Her  smile  was  not  a  whit  more  bitter  than 
before. 

"Yes — one,"  she  said. 

'  •  What  is  it,  dear  ?  Tell  me,  and  it  shall 
be  smoothed  away. ' ' 


164  I  A 

'  •  The  whole  past !  ' ' 

He  started,  drew  near  and  looked  at  her 
closely  in  the  fading  light. 

' '  You  sent  me  away  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes.  Paul,  I  love  you — are  you  not 
the  father  of  my  boy  ? — and  I  send  you 
away.  Once  I  sent  you  for  your  own  good, 
and  you  went :  now  I  send  you  for  my 
good,  and  again  you  will  go." 

"  The  boy  ....  to  give  him  an  honest 
name  ....  self-respect." 

She  drew  herself  up.  "  He  will  carry 
his  mother's  name.  And  forgi'e  me  if 
I  think  for  a  moment  of  my  own  pride. 
There,  dear!  don't  let  us  quarrel.  I've 
a-thought  o'  Johnny,  too.  Listen  :  I'm 
goin'  to  sell  the  most  o'  my  belongin's 
here,  and  we'm  goin'  to  America,  Johnny 
and  me.  The  folks  have  been  kind,  but 
there  he'll  start  'pon  his  own  feet  when  the 
time  comes." 

"You  told  me  once,"  he  urged  (and 
again  she  recognised  the  note),  "you  told 
me  once  that  your  place  was  with  your 
people. ' ' 

"But  they'm  not  his  people.  We  shall 
start  after  Midsummer," 

"  May  I  see  him?" 


A  LOVE  STORY  165 

She  lit  a  candle  and  led  him  upstairs  to 
the  child's  bedroom.  At  the  door  she 
handed  the  candle  to  him. 

"  Step  softly,"  she  said.  "  He's  a  sound 
sleeper,  but  the  planching  creaks." 

She  let  him  pass  into  the  room  alone, 
and  went  back  to  the  parlour  and  waited. 
Twenty  minutes  passed  before  he  came 
down  to  her. 

"  You  didn't  wake  him  ?  " 

"  No  .  .  .  .  my  own  son.  And  I  shall 
love  no  other  woman." 

"Well,  it  does  me  good  to  hear  you  say 
it.  For  I  loved  'ee,  Paul,  an'  love  'ee  still ; 
an'  I  swore  to  'ee  over  Noon  Water.  Thee 
it  needn'  bind." 

"It  shall  bind." 

"  Then  wherever  I  go  I'll  love  thee;  and 
wherever  thou  goes,  my  heart  go  with  'ee. 
May  the  face  o'  God  shine  upon  'ee.  Good- 
bye !" 

He  touched  her  hand,  and  went  from 
her. 


XIX 

JOEL  SPARGO'S  boat  was  moored  two  fur- 
longs from  Ardevora  quay,  and  Joel  was 
sitting  there  in  the  glow  of  a  June  sunset, 
with  his  back  to  the  quay,  whittling  at  a 
thole-pin,  when  la  came  alongside. 

"  You  made  me  jump,"  he  said,  dropping 
his  thole-pin  and  brushing  the  chips  off  the 
thwart.  "  Is  all  well  with  'ee,  mistress? 
Well  or  ill,  the  sight  of  'ee  is  welcome  as 
May  flowers." 

"Ouf!  the  dear  old  smell!"  She 
caught  up  an  end  of  tarry  net  and  held  it 
close  to  her  face.  "  Joel,  I  want  'ee  to  do 
me  a  great  kindness.  I'm  a-leavin'  for 
America  this  very  day  week." 

"  So  it's  true,  what  they  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Will  you  see  us  as  far  as  Liverpool, 
Johnny  and  me?  'Tis  a  long  way  we'm 
goin',  an'  I'm  a  terrible  coward  to  start. 
If  you  could  bring  Jenifer  as  far  as  Liver- 
pool, an'  bring  her  home " 

Had  she  bidden  him  follow  her  round  the 


A  LOVE  STORY  167 

world,  he  would  have  done  it  blithely.  Since 
she  commanded  this  harder  thing,  he  was 
ready. 

A  fortnight  later,  on  a  muddy  pier  at 
Liverpool,  and  in  a  drizzling  rain,  they  said 
good-bye. 

To  Jenifer  la  said,  "  Look  after  father; 
an"  if  ever  you  love  a  man,  though  I  say  it, 
let  your  heart  tell  'ee  what's  right." 

She  pressed  Joel's  hand.  These  two 
parted  without  words.  Their  passions  puri- 
fied, they  went  their  ways  :  he  back  to  the 
railway  station,  and  so  home  to  the  familiar 
toil ;  she  out  through  the  yellow  fogs  of 
Mersey,  looking  forward  to  a  new  life,  hold- 
ing her  boy's  hand,  wondering. 


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